


On the Bridge Between Us

by KaytiKazoo



Series: Years Go By [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: 1960s, Babysitting, Baking, Blow Jobs, Bottom Lance Hunter, Dirty Talk, Domestic Fluff, Gardens & Gardening, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Kitchen Sex, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Minor Skye | Daisy Johnson/Deke Shaw/Daniel Sousa, Mutual Pining, Past Lance Hunter/Bobbi Morse, Period-Typical Homophobia, Semi-Public Sex, Sharing a Bed, Small Towns, Snowball Fight, Time Travel, Wedding Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:29:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 102,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24398062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaytiKazoo/pseuds/KaytiKazoo
Summary: Hunter and Fitz, escaping from Hydra, end up in 1960s rural America and find a friend and ally in a small town farmer who gives them shelter. Even though they're trying to get home back to SHIELD and their team, they find that they have a home here with each other.
Relationships: Leo Fitz/Lance Hunter
Series: Years Go By [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1884214
Comments: 46
Kudos: 51





	1. The Farmhouse, Year One

If Lance Hunter could have chosen anyone to get stranded in the past with, Leopold Fitz absolutely was his first choice, and somehow, luck let him have Leopold Fitz. They crashed into the past with a spectacular  _ bang,  _ literally. Their ship exploded mere moments after Hunter had managed to drag Fitz from the wreckage and covered him with his body. 

“Holy shit,” Fitz coughed, helping Hunter sit up off of him and turning him so he could inspect Hunter’s back. He didn’t have to see it to know he’d taken a brunt of the shrapnel, felt each little piece digging into his skin, his skin and body on fire with pain, each breath agony. “Fuck, Hunter. We have to get you to hospital.”

“Aye,” Hunter agreed, moving to stand. All of their identification, all of their weapons, all of their belongings had gone up with the ship. All they had was their wits, their fists, and the clothes on their backs, and Hunter barely had that. 

“ _ Careful _ ,” Fitz scolded. “You’re going to hurt yourself worse.”

“Not much worse that can happen, mate.”

Fitz helped him up onto his feet and let him lean into him, his arm coming to the uninjured small of his back.

“Hospital,” Fitz said, looking around for the first time at their surroundings. “Jesus, where the fuck are we?”

Hunter lifted his head to join the survey and let out a groan.

“Is this a cornfield?”

“We’re going to have to get you to a house, then, find a farmer or someone.”

“I’m going to die in the middle of a cornfield.”

“You’re not going to die.”

It was a slow trek out of the corn and down to a farmhouse about three kilometers from where they’d crashed. 

“The time drive was spinning when we were shot down which caused the crash,” Fitz said about halfway there. “I don’t know where we are, Hunter, and I also don’t know  _ when  _ we are either.”

“ Ahh ,” Hunter muttered. “We might be walking into a farmhouse from literally whenever.”

“So, maybe don’t mention SHIELD or our ship.”

“It’s possible that we can’t even mention that this might have happened in a car crash, then?”

Fitz looked around, and then up at the sky, and then shook his head.

“No, there’s too much corn planted for it to be done without automation. I think we’re safe mentioning a car. But we should check the driveway when we get closer, that should tell us at least when or where we are.”

“Good thinking,” Hunter muttered, and groaned.

“You’re okay,” Fitz said, pressing his hand into Hunter’s hip to keep him close. “We’re almost there.”

“I really hope someone’s home, and knows how to at least sew.”

“Do you wish you were stranded in this Nowhere Time with Simmons, then?” Fitz asked lightly.

“No,” Hunter said immediately. “No, I’m good with you being here.”

Fitz blushed a little, and the stupid part of Hunter’s brain – Bobbi's unhelpful voice chimed in at the back of his mind asking isn’t that all of his brain – wondered what it would be like to kiss Fitz, find out where the blush stopped. 

“Do you?” Hunter asked. 

“What?”

“Wish Simmons were here instead of me?”

Hunter shouldn’t have asked that, it was unfair. Fitz was in love with Jemma Simmons, everyone knew that; he had been since long before Hunter had chanced onto the SHIELD team.

But then, Fitz was shaking his head.

“No, I’m good.”

He almost asked why that was, why he’d turn down time alone with the girl of his dreams for a slop like Lance Hunter. But he stepped on a rock that twisted his ankle, and with it, his hips and back, and he cried out. He tried to stifle it as he started to collapse, but Fitz had him tight and pulled him back in.

“You’re alright,” Fitz said softly, squeezing his hip, shifting to hold Hunter against his chest more solidly. “You’re okay. Just breathe.”

“Little hard when there’s a piece of hull in your lungs,” Hunter groaned.

“There’s not, you’re being dramatic.”

“Well, it certainly feels like it.”

Fitz laughed, and it was a pleasant rumble in his chest. 

“You’re okay,” Fitz repeated, voice soft and warm. “Come on. We’re almost there. If nothing else, you’ll be able to rest there.”

The farmhouse when they made it was large, two stories with a wraparound porch that looked like it was built lovingly by hand. In the driveway, there was parked an old Dodge Dart that looked relatively new, with a license plate for Iowa. They were at least in the United States at least after the 1960s. Fitz let out a breath, and rested his head against Hunter’s. 

Hunter wasn’t sure how American farmers from the 60s were going to take an Englishman and a Scotsman walking up into their yard covered in blood and singed around the edges, claiming to have been in a car accident, but at least they weren’t going to be thrown on a pyre for heresy or something. It did mean that Hunter had to rein in some of his more  _ flamboyant _ tendencies, like wanting to kiss Leopold Fitz. He could do that. 

He hadn’t kissed Fitz yet, even when he looked downright delectable, bordering on obscene. 

“Okay, okay, this is good.”

“Car crashed while on holiday, then,” Hunter said. “Thought we’d drive across America on our daddies’ money?”

“Didn’t realize how big America is, we did,” Fitz replied, intentionally leaning into his accent to make it thicker. Hunter would drown in that accent sometimes if he could, in Fitz’s voice. 

“Stupid Europeans,” Hunter agreed. 

They didn’t have to make it to the door to find out their reception, a herding dog bolted at them from the side yard, barking frantically while its tail swept back and forth excitedly, and a tall woman in knee-high muck boots followed it. Her hair was swept up into a greying blonde bun and her hands were smeared in what Hunter really hoped was dirt.

“Oh!” she said, pausing at the sight of them. Hunter was listing into Fitz, his head starting to swim from the blood loss, and he’s sure he looked terribly pale. “Well, that’s not what I expected. Beau, go to bed!”

The dog turned and slunk away towards the barn at her command.

“I’m sorry to bother,” Fitz said, shifting Hunter again to keep him upright. “My friend and I were in a crash down the road, and he’s badly injured. We were hoping we might find some help here.”

Hunter waved a bloodied hand wearily at her and started to pitch forward out of Fitz’s grasp as the world spun a little.

“Oh, shit,” the woman said. “Better get him inside, sugar.”

She rushed forward and caught Hunter’s other side, hoisting him standing.

“I’ve got some triage experience from the war,” the woman said, her voice smooth, accent very clearly American, tinged with a bit of southern, and he couldn’t help thinking of Bobbi. “Now, I don’t have the steadiest of hands anymore, so it’s not going to be pretty, but he’ll be okay.”

“Thank you,” Fitz said. Together, Fitz and the woman managed to get Hunter inside and onto her dining room table even as he was waning. She was gone as Fitz stroked over Hunter’s hair slowly while it was just them, gentle and loving. Hunter never wanted her to come back. 

“We got an army nurse,” Hunter laughed, and even he could hear the slur at the corners of his words. “In all of the cornfields in all of Idaho.”

He trailed off with a vague wave of his hand.

“Iowa, mate,” Fitz corrected.

“ Ehh , middle America is all the same, isn’t it?”

Fitz laughed, and Hunter was glad of at least that. 

The nurse returned, changed out of her dirty muck boots and into a pair of clean overalls, drying her hands on a towel hanging from the pocket. She took a moment at a cabinet in the corner, and fished out a bottle and a box.

“Unfortunately, darling, we do not carry anesthetic on the farm, but I’ve got a decent whiskey that should do that trick.”

She passed the bottle over and Hunter took a long drink.

“That’s it,” she said softly. “Never met a Brit who couldn’t drink any of my team under the table. You’re welcome to the rest of it if you need.”

“Thank you,” Hunter said. “What was your name?”

“Oh, where are my manners? My name is Ida, Ida Featherstone.”

“Lance Hunter,” he replied. “I’d shake your hand but —”

He wiggled the bottle at her, and she smiled.

“And this is Leopold Fitz.”

“Just Leo is fine,” Fitz corrected before she could call him Leopold. 

“Well, it’s nice to meet you both,” she said. “I’m going to have to cut that shirt off of you, Lance.”

“That’s okay. I’m not emotionally attached to it.”

Fitz helped her cut away the shirt, and remove it from Hunter’s torso. He swallowed the urge to make a comment about Fitz finally getting his naked, and took another drink. 

“This is,” Ida said softly and then broke off with a shake of her head. “Drink up, Lance. You’re going to need it.”

He wondered what his back looked like as he did as he was told, never one to turn down a drink.

“That bad?”

“It’s not good,” Fitz answered. “But I’m sure with your mouth you’ve gotten yourself into worse.”

“You sound like Bob,” Hunter said softly, a slur to his voice still. Fitz smirked at him and pat his shoulder. “If you just add a little bit of nagging, you’d be perfect.”

“If we get back to her, I’ll certainly tell her you said that.”

Fitz caught his gaze, and smiled.

Ida carefully extracted pieces of hull from Hunter’s back, and then sewed up the cuts with quick, deft hands. Fitz helped as she requested, but mostly kept Hunter distracted. 

He was a very good distraction from the pain, the blue of his eyes practically sparkling as he kept Hunter’s gaze.

“You’re going to need to rest and be careful as not to tear my stitches, Lance,” she said, bandaging them. “I’ve got a spare room that you two can stay in. You’re quite welcome to stay here as long as you need. My momma always taught me to share what I have, and I have plenty here on this farm.”

Together with Fitz’s help, Ida moved Hunter into a room on the second floor.

“Is there anyone else in the house?” Fitz asked.

“No, sugar, it’s just me. I have helpers around the farm, but since Mr. Featherstone passed last year, it’s just me rattling around here.”

“I know Hunter will need to rest for a while, but I could help around the house, or the farm, whatever you need, as payment for your kindness.”

“Oh, sweetie, with your little chicken arms?” she said softly and then laughed.

“I’m an engineer,” Fitz replied, helping Hunter sink onto one of two twin beds in the bedroom. He wished briefly that they were at least stranded in modern times where people had queen sized beds where Hunter might curl up against Fitz at night. “If you have anything in need of repair or upgrade, I can offer that.”

“Do you know anything about tractors?”

Fitz nodded. 

Hunter, for once since meeting Fitz, doubted that, but Fitz had designed Zephyr One and then had managed to turn it space-capable and then into a time machine. If anything, he could figure out how to repair a tractor from the 60s.

“I’ll take a look tomorrow, if that’s okay. I’d like to stay with Hunter.”

She nodded.

“I don’t have anything for the pain, but I’ll be back to change your bandages, Lance. Please take it easy and rest.”

“Aye  aye , ma’am,” Hunter agreed. She smiled at him.

“Please, rest. Leo, if you want to wash up, there’s a bathroom down the hall, and the door immediately to the right of the bathroom is the closet with the towels. I’ll bring you some spare clothes, as well. My Johnny was a little taller and bigger than  y’all , but it’ll have to do until we can get to the market. Now, I have to get back to the farm, but I’ll come check on  y’all ,” she said, before turning and leaving. 

Once alone, Fitz sank onto the bed beside Hunter.

“I don’t know what to do,” he said. “I don’t know how to get us out of this, Hunter.”

“It’s okay,” Hunter said, leaning into Fitz. It was a comfort, feeling him against him. “We’ll figure it out.”

“You need to rest. We can’t figure out anything if you’re hurt.”

“It’s kind of amazing that in all of time and in all of the universe we managed to find an army nurse who willingly opened her home to us.”

Fitz leaned Hunter back onto the mattress.

“Oh, I never expected this is how you’d get me in bed, I do have to say, Fitz,” Hunter replied, but there was something tired in his own voice.

“I’m honestly surprised it took you this long to make that joke.”

“I figured the 1960s is not the time to make gay sex jokes in front of other people.”

“That’s very wise of you.”

Hunter smiled and rested his head back into the pillows.

“I wonder what Simmons and Daisy are doing right now,” he mused aloud, looking at Fitz sitting at his bedside, blood smeared across his shirt and hands. There was something weary and haunted about the way Fitz held himself. “You should shower, love. You’re a mess.”

“I’m not sure what to do, Hunter,” Fitz said, absolutely ignoring him. “There’s no way they’re going to look for us in 1960s Iowa, and there’s no way we can get a message to them from here. I could try to construct something, but I don’t know what, and there’s not exactly a surplus of electronics in the 1960s, let alone on a farm. We could go to the Lighthouse, since that’ll have been built by now and leave them a message to come get us, but we have no way of getting to New York from here, no money, no transportation, no identification to even try.”

Hunter caught his wrist as he started to tug at his hair, something he’d done whenever he got anxious. 

“Hey. It’s okay. We’re alive, Fitz. It doesn’t matter how we’ll get back home, because we’re alive to do it.”

He moved to catch Fitz’s gaze again, even though it stung with every movement. 

“We’ll work towards getting home, no matter how long it takes,, but for right now, at least wash your hands, love.”

Fitz stood and shook his head, heading to the bathroom. Hunter closed his eyes, and tried to ignore the throbbing in his back. He rolled onto his stomach, which wasn’t any better, and tucked his arms underneath his head. 

He wasn’t sure how they were going to get out of this. He wasn’t sure how  _ Fitz  _ was going to get them out of this. He wasn’t sure of anything, except that if he was stuck in the past in the middle of nowhere with anyone, at least it was with him.

* * *

Ida frustratingly wouldn’t let Hunter do anything. Fitz woke up first thing in the morning every morning and helped out around the farm, repairing what was broken and making a list of improvements he could make and what he’d need to make them. They’d both come back in at lunch, Ida tell them all about the drama going on with her farmhands and between her chickens, and then after lunch, Fitz would disappear back into the farm with a toolbox. 

Hunter felt rather like an invalid, and wasn’t used to it. 

“You’re not going to get better and heal if you’re hoisting bales of hay,” Ida said after Hunter asked again if he could help do something. “Just lay down and relax, read a book, watch TV. Most men would be living right now having so much time of their hands.”

Hunter picked up a book from her shelf as requested, a mystery novel that Ida clearly favored if the spine had anything to say, but found himself outside on the wraparound porch, watching Fitz work on the tractor. 

“That doesn’t look like relaxing to me,” Fitz said, barely looking up from his work.

“Oh, I’m plenty relaxed, love.”

He didn’t have to see Fitz’s face to feel the  eyeroll . 

It became a routine, at least, Hunter waking up and Fitz being gone, wandering around the farm until he found him, and sitting near him while he worked. Hunter wasn’t sure if Fitz minded his company, but he never sent Hunter away. 

“Hunter, can you come here?” he said one afternoon, glancing over his shoulder at him. The bridge of his nose and the swell of his cheeks were starting to get a little burnt, and there was a look of frustration in his eyes. “Need a hand.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to get in trouble with Ida.”

“Hunter,” Fitz said, and his eyes softened a little, “please.”

“Who am I to deny you anything, darling?”

He set his book down on the porch step, and crossed the lawn to where Fitz was crouched beside the tractor. 

“I can’t hold this up and bolt it into place, my hands are too sweaty, so if you could just hold this steady,” Fitz said, and Hunter did as instructed. They made a good team, they always had. It put them in an almost uncomfortable proximity, so close that Hunter could turn his head and kiss Fitz, taste the sweat along his pinked skin. Which he did not do because Fitz was in love with Simmons, and they were in 1960s rural America. “Thank you.”

“Anytime. I’ll just be over there, admiring the view, and healing.”

Fitz caught his eyes, and they stayed there for a moment, just looking at each other. 

“You should really put on sunscreen, though.”

He gently touched the tip of Fitz’s nose before retreating back to his porch step to watch him work from over the top of the book he was reading. This was actually the first time Hunter had read anything in a while, not because he was dumb but because he didn’t have time to sit down and read. The life of a mercenary and then of a government agency spy didn’t exactly lend itself to trips to the local library. 

But sitting in the summer sun, watching an attractive man fix tractors and generators and pump systems, stretched out reading, Hunter found he didn’t actually mind this, as much as he grumbled and put up a front otherwise. 

“Come on, sugar,” Ida said one afternoon about a week into their stay, nudging him as he started to drift off in the sunshine, “let’s take a look at those stitches.”

He followed her into the bathroom and lifted his shirt up and over his head. She carefully unwrapped each bandage across his back.

“I believe these are good to come out now.”

Just like that, she had taken the stitching out and nodded to herself, visible in the bathroom mirror.

“Still no strenuous activity until these are fully healed, but I’ll give you pass to weed the gardens and make meals, Lance,” she said. He laughed. 

“I’m not a very good cook,” he warned. “My ex-wife will be the first to tell you that.”

She laughed to herself.

“Don’t worry, I’ll help you the first couple meals, get your feet under you.”

“I’d like that.”

“And you’re welcome to browse and use my collection of cookbooks,” she said. “I’ll turn you into a good househusband before you’re healed, Lance.”

He laughed, but couldn’t help his eyes darted out the window to where Fitz was closing the lid on the tractor, finally satisfied. 

There was no reason to believe that Fitz would ever marry him, or that Hunter would be good at marriage a second time around, but there was a small, romantic part at the back of his brain that wanted to prove he’d been good for Fitz, if Fitz ever decided he wanted Hunter back. 

“Yeah, okay,” he agreed. 

Her smile was a thousand watts, and made Hunter warm from the inside. 

* * *

Of course, his first attempt at making a meal for them was a disaster, but it made Ida laugh to see him frowning and covered in flour. 

“Maybe it’ll be more than the first couple, sugar plum,” she said, joyfully clapping him on the shoulder.

Ida was patient, and funny, and incredibly open.

She was from North Carolina, born in 1919, had no living siblings and both of her parents had passed since she’d turned twelve. Raised by her great aunt, Ida had always wanted to settle down somewhere quiet, but when the war came, she felt the need to serve her country strong in her veins. She had served in World War II as nurse, patching up soldiers torn apart by the newest, bloodiest weapons, which is where she met John Featherstone, a soldier from Iowa, and they’d fallen madly in love with each other. They’d married straight after the war, settled into John’s old family farm, his own parents having passed right after he’d enlisted. 

“Always thought we’d fill this place with babies,” Ida said one night in the living room, sitting in her rocker as she knit what started off as a potholder and slowly became a scarf and then a blanket. “But I couldn’t get pregnant or stay pregnant, and the one I managed to carry to term was so sickly she passed before opening her eyes for the first time. We stopped trying after Caroline.”

She’d distracted herself asking how they met.

Hunter, markedly the better liar of the two of them, answered, “an old friend of mine convinced me to join Fitz’s organization from my less than legal previous employer, and they do good there, so I stayed.”

He didn’t make the joke that it was love at first sight, that it had been Fitz who had made Hunter feel safe to stay with SHIELD, and Fitz who he had kept in contact with even after he and Bobbi had been cut-off and they weren’t supposed to even mention each other .

“He’s stuck around like a bad smell since,” Fitz added. “But unfortunately, I’m attached to him at this point after how many times he’s saved my life so as much as I’d love to get rid of him, I’m afraid I’m stuck with him.”

Ida laughed at that, the storm cloud of grief clearing from her expression.

“He says that like I haven’t been a joy to be around,” Hunter said. 

“You’ve certainly been a joy to have here,” Ida said. And Hunter made a face at Fitz while she wasn’t looking as if to say  _ see, I’m not a pain after all.  _ Fitz rolled his eyes, but there was a fond smile on his lips that Hunter loved to see. 

* * *

Ida showed him how to pull weeds from her gardens, a vast plot of land near the edge of the cornfield filled with neat rows of plants. He’d never done it before, which made Fitz laugh, but he’d grown up in the city with his police father on his ass all the time about doing typical Manly Things. Fitz, by contrast, had grown up in the country with his mum, helping her with her own garden. 

Hunter stuck his tongue out at Fitz while Ida was turned away, and Fitz mirrored the face back at him.

“We don’t get a lot of rain here, so I’ll also need you to use that hose over there,” she said, pointing to the hose attached to the house, “and give them a good watering when the soil is dry.”

It was good work, hard and honest, and it kept Hunter busy, not fixated on Fitz’s arms as he repaired farm equipment that Ida otherwise had neglected. It was so easy to be there, in Iowa. He felt like he could breathe for the first time in years, free, without obligation. They’d have to talk about going back to the present, making their way to the Lighthouse, alerting SHIELD, but Hunter was okay with this life, these days.

He pulled weeds, tended to the gardens in the morning, and made lunch, and then helped Ida with whatever the farm needed, made dinner, and then Fitz and he would retire to their room after a chat with Ida in the living room. It felt so nice to have a routine.

“I was thinking,” Fitz said one afternoon after lunch before they’d gone back to their own duties, “what if we have a package delivered to the Lighthouse, or to the house that connects to the Lighthouse where the team will find it?”

“In 1963?” Hunter asked. “No one will be there for nearly 60 years.”

“No, and it could be stolen or scavenged by then.”

He was quiet, and then said, “but what if we have it held?”

“What? Is that a thing?”

“If we pay enough money, sure. Anything can be a thing.”

“Well, there’s the first problem, then. Money.”

“Yeah,” Fitz said. “It wouldn’t take much comparatively, inflation and whatever, but I doubt Ida will let us borrow a hundred dollars to ship a package or something.”

“Just break something and then offer to fix it in exchange for $100.”

“I’m not extorting and manipulating Ida.”

Hunter shrugged, taking their plates to the sink to wash. Bobbi would be speechless if she could see him, cooking and cleaning, gardening. He might be unrecognizable as a person the next time they see each, a proper husband, the kind of husband she’d deserved when they were married. 

“We could ask to work for it, then, do extra stuff around the farm, help with the market on Saturdays.”

Fitz looked over at him, and smiled. 

“That’s the first normal, decent human being suggestion you’ve had.”

“I’m __ not as big of a scoundrel as you think I am, Leopold,” Hunter said, and there was a blush that spread across Fitz’s cheeks, his mouth falling open the tiniest bit. 

_ Oh _ .

“I never said you were a scoundrel,” Fitz replied, voice  thready . 

God, Hunter wanted to kiss him so bad, wanted to kiss away that startled look in his eyes, the slight part to his lips as he tried to figure out what to say. 

Fitz looked away and out to the yard where Ida and one of the farmhands, Joe were laughing together. Hunter kept his eyes on Fitz, though, studying and learning his face all over again. He’d never get sick of the curve of his jaw, the shadow of his eyelashes on his cheeks, the swell of his lips. Fuck, Hunter loved those lips. 

He finally looked away and started the dishes, turning his back to Fitz to force himself to stop. Pining wasn’t going to get him anywhere. 

Fitz was not into men, was in love with Simmons, and it was 1963 in rural America outside, and inside.

He had to just keep his head down, and help them get home, and not topple deeper into love with Fitz. 

He’d kept himself in check this long; he could keep himself in check until they could get home. It wasn’t Fitz’s problem if he had developed feelings that he never should have, especially not after promising Bobbi that Fitz wasn’t going to be “a problem.” He’d lied, and he suspected that she knew he was lying, but he’d been actively trying to hold himself to that word. 

Fitz slipped out of the side door to help Paul, and Hunter let out a breath. 

Maybe Fitz was oblivious to how he felt, how he stupidly longed and pined.

Maybe it was better this way, that he kept his distance.

* * *

But when Fitz woke up in the middle of the night after a nightmare, gasping like he’d been run through, Hunter couldn’t stay away. He crawled into the little twin sized bed, and let Fitz wrap around him, and soothed him quietly until he had fallen back to sleep. 

They didn’t talk about it.

When it happened to Hunter, Fitz did the same, climbing into his bed, wrapping him in his arms, and letting them drift off together, stroking quieting circles into his skin.

Hunter wanted to propose they just push the twin beds together so they could skip the whole pretense of not sleeping together. 

He didn’t.

One night, a month into their stay there with Ida, Fitz crossed the room and climbed into Hunter’s bed.

“Did you have a nightmare?” Hunter asked. He hadn’t heard the noises that usually indicated Fitz’s nightmares, or the telltale gasp of him waking. 

“No,” Fitz replied, and settled into his arms. “Just can’t sleep.”

Hunter tried not to smile, but let Fitz rest without making a comment. It was easier to sleep with someone pressed against him anyway. 

After that, if Fitz couldn’t sleep, he would crawl into the bed not big enough for two of them, and pass out within minutes. When he was in Hunter’s bed, he didn’t have nightmares. He didn’t wake up in the middle of the night gasping, yelling, in pain from some phantom still haunting him. If just being near Fitz could help, Hunter wasn’t going to stay away. 

That, and Fitz was the best  cuddler he’d ever cuddled with.

Bobbi’s hair was always in the way, getting in his mouth and under his limbs, even when she pulled it up and away from her face, complaining that he was pulling on it. Her elbow was a little gut-seeking missile, even when she was asleep. On top of that, she had the tendency to steal the blankets or complain that he was overheating her. 

Fitz never complained, never stole his blankets, never elbowed him in the chin in his sleep. He fit perfectly against Hunter, and Hunter tried not to think about what that meant, if it meant anything. 

They were stranded so far from home, with no means of getting back, with no contact with their friends and family, so Hunter didn’t hold it against Fitz or expect anything just because he needed some comfort. Hunter would be there for him. 

* * *

“Alright, kids,” Ida said one morning, letting herself into their room, “get dressed, we’re going to the market this morning.”

Hunter grumbled and tucked his head under the pillow to block out the sound of Ida’s chipper morning voice. No matter how long they’d stayed there, he was not prepared for her morning attitude, so bright and sunshiny. He’d never understand how morning people existed. Fitz lifted his head from Hunter’s chest, and murmured an okay at Ida, and then Hunter froze, because they were normally out of bed if Ida peeked in. She’d never seen them curled around each other, Fitz using Hunter’s chest as a pillow, and Hunter soothing himself with sliding his fingers through Fitz’s hair. He often fell asleep that way and found his hand still buried in Fitz’s curls the next morning, which Fitz laughed at every time and said that Hunter secretly had a possessive streak. 

Hunter wanted to say it wasn’t so secret, clearly, but he didn’t. 

“Up and at ‘ em , sugar plums,” Ida said, and then she left without saying anything about the way they were sleeping in the same bed, or touching so intimately. 

“Fuck,” Hunter said, sitting up and dislodging a grumpy Fitz from his chest. 

“What?”

“What?! Ida just saw us cuddling is what!”

Fitz peeked open an eye at Hunter, and god, Hunter needed to stop letting him in the bed because it was ruining him every morning. Since they’d started this, whatever this was, Fitz had been sleeping in a little later, sleeping heavier. Sleepy morning Fitz was going to be the downfall of them both. 

“She didn’t kick us out so that’s a good sign,” Fitz replied, stretching into Hunter, and yawning. He nuzzled into Hunter’s collar and bumped his nose into Hunter’s neck. Sleepy morning Fitz was going to be the downfall of Hunter himself. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m worried.”

Fitz hummed and settled back into him, murmuring, “it’ll be okay, Hunter.”

In the quiet of their room, in the stillness of their bed, Fitz curled his hand in the fabric of his shirt, and Hunter heard himself say, “I don’t know if I want to go back.”

Fitz’s breath hitched, and Hunter closed his eyes, too afraid to see Fitz’s face.

“You know, I don’t know if I want to, either.”

Hunter didn’t know if that was because of this between them, if it was because that Fitz wasn’t being shot at almost daily, because he wasn’t having nightmares as often.

“We should get up before she comes back,” Hunter said. 

“Yeah.”

Fitz pushed himself off of Hunter, but paused in the middle of moving so he was hovered over Hunter, their eyes catching. He stayed like that for a moment, his eyes flicking to Hunter’s mouth before he seemed to realize what he was doing, and climbed off the bed. Hunter’s heart raced in his chest, and his breath didn’t seem to want to come, and he had to remind himself over and over while Fitz set to getting ready for the day that he was straight, that he was in love with Simmons, and even if Ida didn’t care about them snuggling at night, it was still 1960s rural America outside. 

Finally, he pushed himself up and started the day. 

The market was a small parking lot filled with stalls selling everything from fruits and vegetables to handmade pottery and small gadgets. Ida showed them how to set up their own stall for them to run while she headed back to the farm to do her daily work since Fitz had fixed everything. It was good work, unloading the boxes from the truck and setting up the stand, and Hunter didn’t mind it, listening to the chatter of other sellers, Ida and Fitz talking about where to arrange things while Hunter did most of the lifting. Ida had deemed him healed enough to do heavy lifting a few weeks before.

What Hunter kept coming back to, though, in the quiet bustle of the market, was that Ida didn’t say anything the entire time they were setting up about what she saw, and Fitz didn’t seem to mind or notice her silence on the subject. Hunter felt like he was walking on nails. 

“Okay, sugars, I’m  gonna head back to the farm to check on the boys. Here’s my ledger, just keep track of what you sell and how much. Here’s the cash box, I’m assuming you know how to make change by now. And if you get hungry, Pablo and his daughters down there sell excellent burgers,” she said, gesturing to a food stall. “Just write down what lunch costs in the ledger too. Be good. I’ll be back to pick you up when the market closes.”

The day was warm, the sun high overhead but luckily, they had a canopy above them to keep them from roasting. Fitz’s freckles had started to come out in the sunshine, little ones across his nose and cheeks, barely visible under the sunburn. Hunter tanned underneath the perpetual sun, but Fitz had a tendency to burn hard and fast. It was hard to look at Fitz, even though it was his favorite thing to do, too afraid that someone would see the hearts and stars in his eyes and light them on fire. He remembered what it was like growing up in Kent, for kids like him. He wasn’t eager to discover what it was like for kids like him here in the middle of nowhere. 

“Hey, you look a little strung out today. What’s wrong?” Fitz asked after Hunter fumbled with some poor lady’s change three times. Hunter apologized to the customer and she nodded, going on her way with her crumpled bills.

Once she was out of earshot, he replied, “this morning didn’t bother you at all?”

“This morning? Oh, Ida seeing us,” he said. “No, why would it?”

Maybe it was Hunter’s guilty conscience. Maybe it was perfectly innocent to sleep in bed with someone else and he was making a big deal out of nothing. Maybe his feelings for Fitz, and his desires were coloring how he saw the world. 

“We were in bed together.”

“Fully clothed, and asleep, but sure.”

“We were in bed together in 1963.”

“Yes.”

“Fitz,” Hunter said evenly. “The Stonewall Riots aren’t for another six years, in New York City. You think it’s just  gonna be  _ okay  _ for us in Iowa?”

“I think you’re blowing this out of proportion a little,” Fitz said calmly. “She didn’t catch me blowing you or anything. We were sleeping.”

Hunter didn’t know how much of this was denial or lack of knowledge. Fitz was straight, after all, Hunter had to remind himself, and he didn’t know many straight people interested in the gay rights movement and its history. 

“In 1963, anti-sodomy laws still exist,” Hunter said, “and I don’t know about you, but I’m not looking to get strung up and beaten by some backwater homophobic rednecks. I’ve been through it before, and I refuse to go back to that, even if we are technically in the past.”

Fitz’s eyebrows furrowed as he listened.

“Hunter,” he said quietly. Beneath the table, Fitz slid his hand into Hunter’s, and he swore his heart stopped. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. But I don’t think Ida will tell anyone. She’s good, you know. She didn’t freak out and kick us out this morning. She hasn’t made snide comments. She’s letting us still run the market booth. I think you’re okay.  _ We’re  _ okay.”

His eyes were so blue in the sunshine, and honest.

“We don’t have anywhere to go if something goes sideways. If someone finds out – it doesn’t matter what we’re actually doing, if people think they know, then we have nowhere to go, no way to get there. We don’t have money, or a car, or literally any friends other than Ida. We’d be absolutely fucked.”

Fitz squeezed his hand.

“Don’t worry,” he murmured, voice low. “Nothing is going to happen.”

He’d thought he’d grown past these worries, looking over his shoulder, watching what he said, presenting only what was expected of him. He had, but only in the present where he didn’t  _ have _ to worry about people being shitheads. Most people were chill about his sexuality, and if they weren’t, he had enough skills to put them in their place, and friends to back him up. Here, though, they were alone, and if anyone suspected him, they’d start looking at Fitz too. Fitz, who was a weapon these days by himself, sure, but still  _ Fitz _ . He couldn’t let his own actions affect Fitz, harm Fitz in any way. 

No matter what, no matter how long it took to get back home, he could keep his hands to himself to protect Fitz. 

“Okay,” he agreed. “You’re right.”

“Besides, if they try anything, you and I are almost literally licensed to kill.”

Hunter couldn’t help the laugh. Maybe it would be okay. At least he had Fitz. That’s what he kept telling himself, at least. He had Fitz. 

* * *

“You can push the beds together if that makes it more comfortable,” Ida said that night, startling Hunter out of his concentration making fish and chips for them. It was the one thing he did know how to cook without Ida having taught him. “I know it must be a little cramped in a twin sized bed for the both of you.”

“Thank you, that’s very kind,” Fitz replied when Hunter’s words were stuck. 

She nodded, and didn’t say anything further. 

“See, I told you,” Fitz gloated that night, immediately taking Ida up on her offer and pushing his bed against Hunter’s and flopping into it. “I was right. I’m always right. You should just trust me when I say things implicitly that I’m right.”

“You really are starting to sound more and more like Bobbi every day.”

Fitz stuck his tongue out and pat the mattress beside him. Hunter fell into the mattress and Fitz, despite the heat of the room and the fact that he was wearing all of his clothes still, curled up into him and set his cheek on Hunter’s chest. 

“I also saw Randy and Joe making out where Ida could see a couple days ago,” Fitz said.

“And you didn’t  _ tell me that earlier _ !”

Fitz grinned at him.

“More fun this way, darling.”

* * *

For Fitz’s birthday in August, Ida and Hunter planned a small dinner with everyone from the farm attending. She made him a chocolate cake with entirely too sweet frosting and decorated it with sprinkles. It was the cutest thing Hunter had ever seen.

“How old is our Leo?” she asked, looking at her candle collection.

“Thirty-three,” he said. 

“ Ahh ,” she said, and put the candles away except for three. “We’ll just do this, then. I don’t want to set the house on fire.”

Hunter laughed, and they took the cake out to the picnic table where everyone was set. Fitz blushed, but let them sing him happy birthday, and looked right at Hunter as he blew out the candles. 

* * *

In the fall, Hunter was busy in the gardens most days, looking after pumpkins and squashes, carrots and radishes, cauliflower and broccoli. Fitz was improving a watering system, and they didn’t see each other except at mealtimes and in bed. 

It was good to get away from Fitz, spend time tending and caring for something else other than his own willpower. 

“Oh, man, look at that guy,” Paul said, leaning against the fence surrounding the garden to keep the critters out. He was looking at one of the pumpkins in the corner, the largest of the bunch, which Ida and Hunter had been taking extra care of in order to present it at the fall festival in October. 

“Yeah, he’s my pride and joy,” Hunter answered. “Planted him myself and everything.”

“He’d make a great pumpkin pie, I bet,” Paul said. 

“No,” Hunter said, “he’s going in a contest at the festival. But I’m sure there’s some good pumpkin pie pumpkins here in the crop.”

“My wife has been whining about pumpkin pie all week. She has a craving, I guess, but I don’t know how to make one.”

“She’s pregnant, isn’t she?”

“She is, due in January.”

“I’ll see what I can do to get you a pumpkin pie this week.”

Paul grinned at him. “You’d be a marriage saver, Lance.”

“No promises,” Hunter said to temper his expectations. He’d never made a pie before, not even with Ida looking over his shoulder. He could probably manage it, especially since Ida had a collection of cookbooks with very thorough notes in the margins of her favorite recipes. He’s sure if he asked her for help, she could point him in the right direction. And he wanted to. 

“Hey,” Hunter said that night before they’d retired to bed. “I’m actually going to stay up. There’s something I want to do.”

“What’s that, sugar?”

“Can you show me your pie recipes? I promised Paul something.”

Ida grinned at him, and lead him back into the kitchen, Fitz following curiously. He’d probably sit up with Hunter all night, knowing him, watching and helping where he could. He didn’t know if Fitz had learned anything about baking from his mother, but she seemed like the type from his stories who might bake pies. 

Ida pulled an ancient looking recipe book from the shelf and set it on the counter, smiling at him.

“Here, what type of pie are you looking for?”

“Pumpkin, apparently.”

She flipped to the right page without having to think, a little flag landing her where they needed to go, and Hunter had absolutely been right. She had written her notes in the corners, and pushed it towards him.

“We should have everything in the cupboards that you need, of course.”

“Of course,” Hunter agreed. 

“You holler if you get stuck. I’m heading to bed.”

She caught him and kissed his cheek the way she did, and then did the same to Fitz. 

“Goodnight, doves.”

Hunter leaned into the counter and read the recipe, and Ida’s notes carefully. Luckily, his years as a spy taught him a lot of things, including how to read shorthand, code, and terrible penmanship. Ida and Fitz should have a contest to see whose handwriting is worse, he thought. 

“So, pie?” Fitz asked. 

“Paul’s wife is pregnant, and he asked me to bake him a pie.”

“He asked  _ you _ to bake a pie?”

“I’m not useless, you know.”

“Never said that, myself, personally,” Fitz said.

“Never said it,” Hunter agreed. “But you seem to have inferred it, or at the very least thought it.”

Fitz narrowed his eyes at Hunter, even as Hunter turned away to gather ingredients. 

He didn’t mind Fitz being there, even if usually he cooked alone or with Ida supervising. There was something peaceful about the making of it all, putting things together and having them taste good, having them be edible and nutritious for this little group of misfits he’d found himself a part of. So much of his life was spent destroying, killing people, taking down groups, completing missions that ruins lives. He’d taken so many things apart that he forgot what creation was like, putting effort and ingredients together until they were a thing. His mum, back before she died, had started to teach him how to knit to soothe his anxieties and keep his hands busy, but his father had put an end to that very quickly. It felt so good to measure out flour and butter, focused on that instead of whatever turmoil was roiling in his stomach. 

“You’re a different person here,” Fitz said. Even though his voice was quiet, it was loud in the absolute silence of the kitchen.

“I can be.”

Hunter wanted to point out that Fitz was different here, too. He was lighter, and smiled more, and laughed harder. He touched Hunter with little touches, and made softer jokes that weren’t tinged with very real threats and fatalism. The first time Hunter heard Fitz openly and freely laugh he felt like someone had shot him, startled all at once. 

“You could be at home,” Fitz said quietly. 

He couldn’t stop the scoff that slipped out of his lips.

“You could be!”

Hunter set the knife he was chopping butter with done and looked at Fitz with a level look.

“How could I possibly be this at home? We run for our lives. We run headlong into danger. There’s no time or energy to make dinner or --”

“You could.”

Hunter shook his head.

“Everyone has an idea of who I am at home. Bobbi expects me to be short-sighted and impulsive, ignoring the big picture. Everyone else expects me to be funny and unbothered and ridiculously good looking.”

Fitz rolled his eyes. 

“You don’t have to be what they think you are.”

“I don’t know, Fitz, I’ve tried, but every time I do, it just feels like I get kicked back into my place. It’s happened my entire life. At some point, you just stop trying to defy expectations and just lean into it. Lance Hunter, flighty, flirty, and free, not bothered by anything.”

Fitz set his chin in his hands and seemed to look over Hunter thoughtfully.

“No, there’s definitely more to you than that, even at home.”

“Thanks, but there’s not.”

“You’ve always been more complicated than people have given you credit for. You’re loyal, and smart, and one hell of an agent. Sure, you’re rough around the edges and your sense of humor could use some work, but that doesn’t mean you’re not complex and multifaceted. This guy, wearing an apron and making pie for someone’s pregnant wife, this guy has always been a part of you.”

“Maybe,” Hunter said. “Never knew it before.”

“I didn’t think I was capable of being in the field until we were. You don’t know the pieces of you and the things you’re capable of until you’re put in that position. You’ve never had a house and a farm job before, so how would you know that you could be this?”

It felt strange.

“You’re different than when we met, too,” Hunter said.

“Well, yeah,” Fitz said. “I had just come out of the coma, and was a disaster.”

“Yes, but you’re stronger now,” he continued, turning back to the recipe so he didn’t have to look Fitz in the eyes. “You’ve seen more, and you’ve endured more. You know your limitations, your strengths, and you’ve become a force that I wouldn’t want to tango with.”

“You don’t want to dance with me?” Fitz teased. 

“You know I’d dance you right to bed if you’d let me,” Hunter said, the flirt coming automatically. “Horizontal tango and all, make you see God.”

He could sense the  eyeroll without having to see Fitz’s face. 

“I like this me,” Hunter said a little while longer. “I haven’t been quite this happy in a long time.”

“Me too,” he swore he heard Fitz say, but it was so quiet, he wasn’t sure he heard correctly, if he’d actually heard it at all. Wishful thinking, he thought.

“Here, try this,” he said later, holding out a spoon towards Fitz. “Tell me if it tastes alright.”

Fitz leaned towards him and wrapped his mouth around the spoon. 

Hunter had to remind himself how to breathe, looking at Fitz’s mouth, eyes closing as he tasted the filling. 

“It’s really good,” Fitz murmured, eyes fluttering open. “That’s so good.”

Hunter grinned, and went back to his pie, the back of his neck hot as he shoved away the image of Fitz’s mouth.

Pie was a lot harder than he thought, a lot harder than taking a Sara Lee pie out of the box and popping it in the oven until it was cooked per the box instructions. It took him about an hour longer than the recipe probably anticipated, and Fitz was yawning exaggeratedly by the time Hunter set the pie on the counter to cool. 

“You can go to bed,” Hunter said for the third time as Fitz yawned again. 

“I won’t sleep.”

Hunter looked up at him, his expression drooping with sleep but fighting it desperately.

“I can’t sleep without you,” Fitz murmured. 

In another life, in another time, Hunter would have moved to Fitz’s side, and taken his face in his hands and kissed him slow until they couldn’t breathe, holding him close, and promising he’d be up soon. He’d take Fitz up to bed, hands still smelling on sweet pastry, lay him out and kiss him again. 

In another life, sure, Hunter told himself.

In another time, when looking at Fitz took long wasn’t dangerous, when daydreaming about the way his muscles moved as he worked wasn’t likely to get him arrested. 

If Fitz weren’t straight, and in love with Simmons, and it weren’t rural 1960s America outside. 

If, Hunter thinks wryly. Always an if. 

* * *

The pie, apparently, was a huge success, and Paul’s wife had sent a note to Hunter thanking him profusely, and requested a pineapple upside down cake if she could possibly imposition him.

He dug through the books, and it became a weekly tradition for Hunter. 

Stationary, sedentary life used to creep at his back, breathing on his neck, kicking him and shoving him into action. He kept moving, always forward, never backward, running headlong into danger. 

Fitz stayed up with him every time he experimented in the kitchen, testing batters and fillings when Hunter held out a spoon for him, even when Fitz was obviously exhausted. They went to bed together smelling of cooking pastries and caramelized sugar, and Fitz would tell Hunter he was proud of him for still trying to find this new him. 

Hunter never found the words to reply, but Fitz curled his hand into the fabric of Hunter’s shirt, and it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that Hunter was bad with words. It didn’t matter that they didn’t talk about what they were doing outside of their bedroom. It didn’t matter, none of it mattered. 

Hunter had a recipe book, a garden, a beautiful boy sleeping in his arms, and a place to, however tentatively, call home.

* * *

The fall festival was chaos, but it was exactly Hunter’s kind of chaos. 

Kids were everywhere, screaming and running, looping through the carnival rides and games, leaving a trail of popcorn in their wake, their parents exhausted in their endless pursuit. He’d never been to something this extravagant, and it surprised him that Marietta, Iowa had anything like this, especially not as a yearly affair. 

Ida had sat him down after the pie he’d made and said, without hesitation, “you and me are going to be running a bake sale at the festival.”

“A bake sale?” 

“Yes.”

Fitz had cackled at the idea, earning himself a dish towel snapped at his ass as he bolted from the kitchen. 

“A bake sale,” Ida said. “I’m going to help you, but we’re going to make cookies, brownies, little banana bread loaves, and we’ll make pies people can freeze until the holiday if they want. And, I’ll split the profits with you.”

She nudged him playfully, and somehow, between that grin on her face and the way she leaned into his space, he agreed. 

So, here he was, booth set up at the fall festival with three days' worth of baking spread out in front of him. He had barely left the kitchen during that time period, always baking and washing dishes and prepping ingredients and washing dishes and checking the temperature of the oven and washing dishes. He’d done so many dishes that his fingertips were still pruned at the end of each day when he went to bed. Fitz had complained when Hunter’s pruned fingers passed over his neck, but hadn’t left his arms.

“I’ve heard about your pumpkin pie,” a woman with hair larger than Hunter thought possible said, leaning into the table with a smile. “Marla was telling me all about it.”

“It was my first-time making pie, actually,” he said. “It’s a miracle that it worked as well as it did. Well, a miracle and Ida’s incredibly thorough notes.”

Ida grinned at him.

They’d been the talk of the town the first time they’d gone to town with Ida, two Europeans who’d showed up out of nowhere with nothing but their clothes on their backs, covered in scars and bleeding. Ida had said they’d had some car trouble, were looking for a place to stay until they could get it taken care of. The townspeople had been quiet and wary around them when they went out shopping with Ida, even after she assured everyone that they were good people. But through Ida’s determination, and Fitz and Hunter working at the market every week, they’d become a part of the town. 

“Always a sweet talker, this one.”

“My mum taught me my manners,” he said to Ida. Then, to the woman, “we’ve still got a couple pumpkin pies for sale if you’re interested. Great for every day, or it’ll keep frozen until Thanksgiving.”

“Have you had many Thanksgivings?”

“I have,” he said with a small smile. “Leo and I worked for the same company based out of America, and our coworkers always made us celebrate it.”

It was a lie, but one he could get away with. 

He had had Thanksgivings, with Bobbi’s family who still didn’t like him to this day, with Mack and Hartley. He still didn’t quite understand the tradition, even with the history lessons over the years, but he wasn’t going to turn down a day celebrated with a buffet. 

“Where is that darling Leo?” the woman asked, peeking around them as if Hunter had hidden him in his back pocket or something. 

“He’s back on the farm,” Ida answered. “We were having a problem with the tractor again this morning for harvesting so I’ve got him working on that.”

“He’s a mechanic, then?”

“An engineer, actually,” Hunter said before he could help himself. Fitz didn’t need his honor defended, but Hunter was going to do it anyway. “Technically, he’s a doctor of engineering.”

“Oh, really? He’s so young, though.”

Hunter didn’t say that Fitz was a veritable genius and he’d accomplished more before he was twenty than anyone in the whole of Marietta, Iowa had in their entire lives. He didn’t say that Fitz had overcome so much to become a genius, throwing off his father’s harsh words and doubts, becoming so much more than Alistair Fitz could even dream of. Fitz had built weapons, and planes, and time travel engines. He wasn’t just some mechanic. 

“He’ll surprise you,” Hunter said. “So, that pie? We’ve got the infamous pumpkin, but we also have apple and strawberry rhubarb.”

“Oh,” she said, apparently caught off guard with the subject change. “Right. I’ll take a pumpkin.”

He picked up one of the remaining pumpkin pies in its careful packaging, and handed it over as she passed over a dollar to Ida. It was weird how much things were the same, and how much they were different. Things were much cheaper in 1960 than he was used to, but as Fitz had pointed out earlier, inflation was a bitch. 

“She’s a bit pushy,” Ida said after she left. “Hope’s been on the prowl since her husband died, probably even before. She’s a nice lady, but she certainly didn’t waste any time if you know what I mean.”

He laughed at that. 

“I can fend off unwanted advances,” Hunter said.

“I’m sure,” she said quietly. “Helps when you have something to hold onto, I suppose.”

Hunter felt the rigidity take his spine for a moment, but Ida didn’t say anything else.

“You and Leo,” she said sometime later after a few more customers had come and went, taking their baked goods with them. “You’re obviously welcome to stay with me as long as you’d like, but were you looking to get out of Iowa sooner? Is there any way I can help with that?”

Hunter considered that question, thinking back to Fitz’s plan, of his own desire to stay here. He wanted to turn her down, but he couldn’t hide away with Fitz forever as much as he wanted to, as much as these last few months had been beautiful.

“We were looking to send word for our friends to receive and get us home with, but it’s not cheap to send something to England.”

She nodded, and considered this.

“Well, how much were you needing?”

“I’m not sure. A hundred American, probably? Fitz – Leo has most of the idea, honestly.”

Her eyebrows raised and she mouthed out the amount. It was certainly too much for sending a letter, but she didn’t ask exactly what it was for, what their plan actually was. 

“It’s too much to ask for, I know. I’ll willingly work for it, for as long as I can. It’s why Fitz and I haven’t asked; we know it’s too much.”

“Oh, well, if you’re going to work for it, a hundred is fine. I’ll take it out at the bank on Monday and you can get your plan started on Tuesday, if that’s okay.”

“That’s entirely too kind, I’m not sure –”

“Hush now, sugar plum,” she said. “We’ll get you home, if that’s still what you want.”

* * *

His pumpkin won second place, which was a small cash prize and a bright red ribbon that Ida stuck to his shirt on their way home. 

“Next year,” she said hopefully.

“Next year,” he echoed.

* * *

He handed the envelope of cash over to Fitz , who frowned , on Monday.

“What’s this? Finally paying me back for all the bets you’ve lost?”

“No, love. It’s the money from Ida to send that package to the Lighthouse.”

“From Ida?”

“I asked at the festival, said that I’d work for it. After that, she just gave it over.”

“Hunter,” Fitz said, holding the envelope out between them still. “We can’t use this.”

“I told her to keep my half of the bake sale earnings  and the cash prize for the pumpkin growing contest  as down payment on paying her back. If the team gets here quickly, we’ll give her something of equal value. If not, then I’ll be working with Ida anyway.”

Fitz looked up at him, eyes wide.

“Hunter.”

He reached out and pushed the envelope closer to Fitz’s chest.

“We’ll take the car down to the post office tomorrow after breakfast, and we’ll see what we can do about getting a message sent and held for the team.”

Fitz didn’t look away from him, though, and Hunter felt awkward diverting the conversation right away, even though he was exhausted from a weekend at the festival, and the three days of straight work prior, and the work he’d done that day. He wanted to fall into bed and drag Fitz with him so they could sleep, so they could plan in the dark exactly what it was that they were going to do, so that when Hunter closed his eyes, he could pretend that Fitz wasn’t just there to stave off the nightmares. 

“Okay,” Fitz finally said. He tucked it away in his jacket on his dresser, and turned back to Hunter. “Thank you, Hunter.”

“Yeah, no problem, mate.”

Fitz’s eyebrows furrowed for a moment, but smoothed out in a blink of an eye before Hunter could decipher it. 

* * *

They paid the post master directly to hold their letter and then have it sent to the Lighthouse after Fitz of the past managed to build the Time Drive engine. It was a short letter instructing the team what had happened, and where and when they could find them. They both signed the bottom to solidify this wasn’t a trap, or a scam. It would be a very weird, very specific trap if it was, but Fitz said it was better to take that out of the equation before it became a problem. 

“This is a strange request, holding a letter for almost sixty years,” the post master said, taking the cash Fitz held out to him with the letter. “But anything for a paying customer.”

“Thank you,” Fitz said, and Hunter watched as they specifically wrote out the delivery date and instructions for whoever came after this post master with the receipt of payment. 

As they stepped out into the golden sun of a cool Iowa fall afternoon, Hunter sighed.

“That was surprisingly easy.”

“All we have to do now is wait. Hopefully they can get the Time Drive in Z1 working to get here without me. If they don’t, we might be going home the long way around.”

Hunter looked over at Fitz, and didn’t say that wouldn’t be such a bad thing to spend their lives together. 

* * *

Fitz’s hands had always been rough, callused around the edges from working with them for years; engineering marvels didn’t come with no cost. Sometimes, at night, his hand slipped underneath Hunter’s sleep shirt and along his stomach, rough and soft at the same time. Hunter never mentioned it the next day, how the warmth of their skin together woke him up, fantasies dancing through his mind of Fitz’s hand drifting lower, feeling that gentle roughness wrap around his dick.

He always had to extract himself from the net of Fitz’s limbs and sit at the side of the bed for a moment, breathing, getting himself back under control. It wouldn’t do any good to get himself worked up over what would never happen. 

Fitz was straight.

Fitz was in love with Simmons.

It was 1960s rural America outside.

The mantra wasn’t quite working the way Hunter hoped it would, and sometimes, he had to excuse himself from the room entirely to breathe in the chilled night air. He wasn’t going to do anything without permission from Fitz himself, he knew that, he trusted himself that much, but sometimes, he just had to be away from Fitz. The physical contact was nice, but there was only so much a guy could take. 

Fitz was straight.

That hand wasn’t going to be drifting any lower, and it was completely by accident that it found its way into Hunter’s shirt in the first place.

Fitz was in love with Simmons.

Even if he wasn’t completely straight, the man only had room in his heart for one person, Hunter was sure, and it was always going to be Jemma Simmons.

It was 1960s rural America outside.

Self-explanatory, Hunter was not interested in dying for a boy.

He’d die for Fitz, which was stupid and fucked up and he didn’t actually  _ want _ to die when he could live and stay with Fitz, but if it meant Leo Fitz got to live another day, he’d do it.

Hunter found himself on the porch in the early hours of the morning in early December, leaning against the railing that had been covered with frost after the sun had gone down. He’d pulled on his jacket and put his feet in some shoes, but his pajamas pants and shirt weren’t cutting it against the  windchill . It didn’t matter. The chill of it running through him battled against the heat from Fitz’s hands on him, and he could breathe.

“What are you doing out here?” a sleepy voice asked from behind him, the lilt of his accent almost taking the words away. “It’s 3 in the morning, Hunter.”

“I needed to get some air,” he said as Fitz came up beside him, not wearing a jacket or shoes, shaking slightly as he wrapped himself in his arms. 

“I woke up and you weren’t there,” he murmured. “Did you have a nightmare?”

“No,” Hunter said, voice cracking. Fitz leaned into him to leech his warmth, and Hunter let him. “Just couldn’t sleep.”

“So, logically, you thought getting yourself a case of pneumonia would help?”

“I’m wearing a coat and shoes, unlike someone else out here,” Hunter pointed out, gesturing to Fitz’s shivering form down to his toes which were curled against his feet to try and protect themselves. 

“I wouldn’t have to be out here if you were in bed.”

Hunter wanted to ask why Fitz had come out here. He certainly slept better when Hunter was there to protect him, but it wasn’t like he couldn’t sleep at all. He could have just rolled over and gone right back to sleep, pretending like Hunter was there, or hadn’t ever been there, a moment alone for once. 

Hunter pulled Fitz in closer and under his arm so they could share his body heat.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” he said quietly. 

Fitz leaned his cheek into Hunter’s shoulder and replied, “I’ll go in when you do.”

Hunter sighed, but turned towards the door.

“Wait,” Fitz said. “Are you okay? You normally sleep through the night.”

“I’m fine, Fitz.”

Fitz’s hand tightened around Hunter’s elbow, and Hunter was glad for the jacket sleeve keeping their skin apart. 

“Lance,” he said, voice smaller, more timid, barely a breath on the wind. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, mate. Don’t worry about me.”

“It’s my job to worry,” Fitz said. “I have to get us home, and that means together, in one piece. Preferably with you not sleep-deprived and without pneumonia.”

“Right.”

Fitz gripped his arm and looked straight into his eyes. They were frozen there for a minute, staring at each other while the wind whipped into their clothes. 

“You’d tell me if you needed help, right? You’re my best friend, Hunter. Even if we don’t get home, you’re a priority for me. Top of the list, keeping you alive, safe, healthy, happy. And then it’s getting us home.”

“Yeah,” Hunter said quietly. 

“Come on inside, Hunter, out of the cold.”

He slid his hand down Hunter’s arm to his hand, sliding their fingers together. Hunter had to remember how to breathe again. They were just holding hands. He couldn’t lose his mind over Fitz holding his hand. Platonic, and reassuring. They’d held hands before. He was a spy, trained and tested in all kinds of situations. He wasn’t going to fall apart because Leo Fitz was holding his hand.

Except, Fitz tugged on his hand as he headed inside, and smiled at him, and – 

Yes, he absolutely was. 

* * *

The team hadn’t arrived by Christmas, so Hunter, Fitz, and Ida had a small dinner, and exchanged presents, and talked about different traditions from their countries. Fitz told about his mum’s tradition of opening a small present on Christmas Eve, since he had apparently been a menace to get to bed on Christmas Eve night without it, which Hunter adored so deeply. Ida talked about going to church and singing at midnight mass, her parents on either side of her.

“I haven’t really gone since they passed,” she said softly. “I know Mama would want me to, but it just doesn’t feel right.”

Hunter had lost his mother before he was a teenager to cancer three days before Christmas, and his father had lost all holiday joy afterward. They didn’t really do Christmas in his house after that, no tree, no lights, no Christmas dinner, just a couple of presents piled up at the end of his bed in the night wrapped in newspaper. He didn’t want to tell them about that, the sad fact that Hunter hated his father for not trying harder, for giving up when he still had Hunter to raise and care for. 

Instead, Hunter told them about his own Christmas tradition with his teammates, to go up on the roof of whatever building they were in, look at the stars, passing a bottle of whiskey around. He’d done it with his buddies in the army after he’d left his dad’s house, and then with Bobbi, with Mack, with Hartley. 

“We don’t say anything usually,” Hunter said, “not at first. Then, someone will start talking about home, and what they miss. Soldiers love to talk about home, don’t they?”

This made Ida laugh, Ida who had served in a war just as Hunter had and would’ve experienced that raw nostalgia. 

She never asked what war Hunter had fought in, what he’d seen, what he’d been through. He loved Ida for that. 

“That sounds nice,” she said softly. “A good tradition.”

* * *

At the end of the night, as they climbed into bed, Fitz looked at Hunter and said, “I don’t mean to pry, and you don’t have to tell me anything. Obviously. But I noticed you didn’t mention your Christmases growing up.”

Hunter let out a snort, because of course, Fitz noticed.

“That would be because they weren’t very good. Well, before my mum died, they were amazing. Dad kind of lost the Christmas spirit with her death. He lost a lot of things with her death. But my mum, she always made sure that things were special. She’d come into my room just after midnight, and wake me up if I’d fallen asleep. I’d try really hard not to fall asleep, so I could hear her coming. But she wake me up, and bundle me up in her lap, and she’d tell me about the day I was born.”

“Wait, why would she do that on Christmas?”

Hunter stopped, and looked at Fitz.

“I was born on Christmas, love.”

“What? No, you weren’t. I’ve seen your SHIELD file, you were born in July.”

Hunter laughed and shrugged.

“My mum and I used to celebrate my birthday in July, as a half-birthday kind of thing so I still got a birthday celebration. After a while, it just kind of stuck. I had my birthdate changed in the army system by a buddy of mine when I was a lieutenant, and then it just kind of carried over. My actual date of birth is Christmas, though.”

Fitz was looking at him, studying him, and then he was up and out of bed before Hunter could say anything.

“Stay here,” he said, and then he was gone.

He wanted to follow, but he stayed where he was, waiting for Fitz to come back. When he did, Fitz was carrying one of the cinnamon rolls Hunter had made for their Christmas morning breakfast, with a single candle sticking in the middle, lit with his hand cupped around it.

“What are you doing?” Hunter laughed.

“It is still your birthday,” Fitz said, sinking onto the bed across from Hunter, holding out the plate. “And I suspect you haven’t really celebrated your birthday in a while. So. Happy birthday, Hunter. Make a wish.”

Hunter took the plate, kept his eyes on Fitz, and blew out the candle. Fitz grinned at him, clearly pleased with himself, and that was the best birthday present he could have ever gotten.

* * *

The New Year came, and went, and they still didn’t hear anything from the team.

* * *

“Paul’s wife gave birth this weekend,” Ida said one afternoon in the middle of January, setting down at the table where Hunter had set lunch. She’d just come in from taking care of the livestock, and was pulling the gloves from her hands. “A baby boy. Named him Andrew  _ Lance  _ Rutger .”

Hunter looked up at her.

“They named the baby after me?”

“Apparently, the baked goods you sent to her were so influential, that they decided to name the baby after you. When they can, they’re going to drive out here with him so you can meet.”

Hunter turned away as tears prickled in his eyes.

“That’s, that’s really cool. I can’t wait to meet him.”

* * *

The baby was adorable. He was the cutest thing Hunter had ever seen. When Pam set him in Hunter’s arms, he was pretty sure he was going to have a heart attack. He’d never held a baby before, not a newborn like this. Most of the kids he’d been forced into holding were toddlers or older, not quite so fragile. But Andrew, he was small, and fragile, and perfect. 

“Wow,” Hunter muttered. “Hey little guy. You are very small, do you know that?”

Andrew was looking up at him with wide blue eyes, curious eyes looking at him.

“You are. I know it’s hard to believe, mate, but you are a very small being right now.”

The baby made a noise at him, and he couldn’t help but laugh.

“I know. It is very unfortunate to be born so small, but you’ll grow up and be as big and strong as your daddy, and just as beautiful as your mummy.”

He could see Fitz out of his periphery staring at him, but he didn’t want to think about that, about a family with Fitz, holding their child, rocking them to sleep, teaching them to walk, and fight, and build. He couldn’t think about that, so he looked at Paul and Pam, who looked exhausted but happy, talking to Ida, and then down at Andrew in his arms. 

He couldn’t have this, not as a spy, not always on the run, not in danger every day. Maybe here in Iowa, in 1964, but not with Fitz, not the way he wanted it.

“You’re  gonna be spectacular, little guy. You’ve got a whole lot of life ahead of you, and you’re going to love it.”

* * *

Spring came slowly, but as soon as it did, they were hard at work all over again. Hunter was carefully plotting out the garden for the spring season, clearing out the garden of any remnants from the fall, and going with Ida to pick out plants and seeds to start the garden with. Now that Hunter knew what he was doing, it was easy to see what was a good, healthy plant, and what might start to fail after planted. 

“Now, they’re not edible, but I always grow flowers in the spring for the Flower Festival at the end of spring. These are a little bit more difficult as they’re fussy, and I’ll need to show you how to prune and care for them so they come out pretty, but I trust you.”

So, somehow, Hunter became a gardener and a florist, taking care of vegetables, fruits, small budding flowers.

“You need some gardening gloves,” Fitz said after Hunter nicked himself on a rosebush for the third time in a week, taking his hand carefully. Hunter let him guide his hand under the cool water and wash the dirt and blood from his skin. 

“I can handle a few scrapes, you know,” Hunter replied. 

“Maybe, but you should avoid the scrapes in the first place. Your blood is supposed to stay inside of your body.”

“I’ll sew you some gardening gloves if you don’t get your own.”

Hunter rolled his eyes.

“Like you know how to – do you know how to sew?”

“You’re not the only one Ida’s been teaching to do stuff.”

“When did Ida teach you to sew?”

Fitz shrugged.

“Alright, keep your secrets,” Hunter said, nudging Fitz playfully with his elbow. Fitz laughed. 

* * *

The next week, after Hunter had nicked himself again, this time on a pair of shears he was using to cut back a plant that had decided to grow into the fencing around the garden, Fitz came back and handed him a pair of thick gloves.

“Wear them.”

He said it in such a way that Hunter couldn’t say no.

Hunter slipped the gloves on and waggled his fingers at Fitz. Fitz rolled his eyes, but that fond smile was there, and that’s all Hunter wanted.

* * *

The Flower Festival was a disaster, and it was exactly Hunter’s kind of disaster. It rained all weekend, and the baked goods that Hunter and Ida had made were given as gifts to the merchants who stuck it out. The flowers were rained out until they were barely recognizable, and Hunter wound up with a wicked cold that laid him out for three days before he could breathe again. 

Plus side was that he learned how to make soup with Ida, and Fitz kept checking up on him like he was dying. His hand felt nice against Hunter’s forehead and along his cheek.

“I’m okay,” Hunter said, even though his chest ached so bad it might have been collapsing in on itself. “I’ll be okay.”

“You look miserable,” Fitz replied.

“I am, but I’ll be okay.”

Fitz made him tea just the way he liked.

“I didn’t know they sold decent tea in Iowa.”

“I had the market manager order some special from London for us.”

Hunter smiled, and sipped his tea. 

* * *

Summer came, and they were rounding on a year at Ida’s home. There was still no sign of the team arriving, no word sent that they’d been there soon. Hunter was fine with that, the longer they took, the longer he could pretend that this was his real life and not some extended holiday. 

* * *

The week leading up to their anniversary with Ida was rough.

The air conditioning had broken, and Fitz was waiting on a part through the local hardware store to fix it, and the house was boiling hot.

Hunter couldn’t sleep and Fitz kept moving around, trying to get comfortable in the sticky heat. 

“Fitz, I swear to god, if you don’t stay still,” Hunter finally growled.

Fitz’s eyes snapped open and they glared at each other in the dark. 

“I’m not the one who gives off a bunch of heat, you walking furnace.”

“Oh, the heat is my fault, is it?”

“I didn’t say that,” Fitz said. “But don’t complain about me moving when you’re the one making it a goddamn oven in this bed.”

“Not exactly something I can fix, though, mate.”

“Just, you stay over there,” Fitz grumbled, shoving Hunter onto his own mattress, and then moving to the other so they weren’t touching. “Think cool thoughts. Ice caps. Iced tea. The lake.”

Hunter rolled his eyes but stayed on his side of the bed. 

The problem was that Hunter slept like shit without Fitz apparently, even though he was only a couple feet away, and the nightmares came for Hunter again.

He was gardening, that’s how it started these days, hands deep in rich, dark soil, settling a plant into the ground. There was a rush of wind and the Zephyr blew past him overhead. He could hear Fitz yelling for him, but he was stuck, rooted into the ground. There was a series of gunshots from somewhere Hunter could never see, and a scream that came from the house, and then Fitz disappearing into the cornfields bordering the yard. He yelled for Fitz to wait, but he couldn’t pull his feet free. 

There was an explosion, and a scream he felt in his bones that he knew came from Fitz, and then, then – 

Then he bolted awake, gasping, calling out for Fitz who was right there. It was too hot, his body soaked in sweat, and they’d both stripped down to just their boxers, but when Fitz touched him, he grabbed onto his hand and held on. 

“You’re okay,” Fitz murmured, shuffling until they were touching from shoulder to hip, and then climbed into his lap to wrap him in a hug. “I’ve got you, Lance. You’re okay.”

Hunter gripped onto Fitz, buried his face in the sweaty crook of his neck, and drew ragged breaths.

“It’s okay,” Fitz murmured, running soothing touches along his neck and shoulder. 

He couldn’t find any words, but Fitz moved them slowly so Hunter was laying on Fitz’s chest, despite the fact that they were both sweating profusely and it smelled a little like a locker room in their bed. When Hunter finally fell asleep, it was blissfully to no dreams at all. 

It continued every night though, Hunter trying to sleep separate from Fitz and ending up in his arms anyway after the dreams shook him awake. 

The last night before Fitz grabbed his hand as he went to lie down opposite Fitz.

“I want to talk to you.”

“Okay.”

“You’ve been having those nightmares every night,” Fitz said quietly. “And I know you don’t like to talk about them, but are you alright?”

“I keep thinking about how, if the team comes tomorrow, I don’t know if I want to go back.”

Fitz took in a sharp breath.

“I’ve been fighting my entire life, following orders, doing whatever I need to. I thought that I just wasn’t built for a life that is quiet and sedentary like this, except it’s been a year, Leo. It’s been a year, and I love it here. Can you believe that? I can cook, and bake, and garden. We have friends who don’t carry guns to keep themselves from being shot and kidnapped by Hydra. There’s a baby named after me not because I saved their lives but because I baked them a pie. This, this life we’ve got is good, and I don’t know if I can leave that if the team shows up tomorrow.”

Fitz was quiet for a moment after Hunter had finished. 

“I get it.” There was another beat of silence. “After everything, after what I’ve done and gone through for SHIELD, all I can think is when do I get to have this? Is there a chance to retire from SHIELD in the future? We’ve been running nonstop since the fall, and there’s no end in sight. The end is a body bag. It already was for me.”

Hunter flinched at that.

“I like it here,” Fitz continued. “I like it here with you, and Ida, and with the cows and chickens. The fact that our biggest fight this entire year was because of how hot it is means so much has changed. I haven’t had to design a new weapon in a year. God, I’m putting my skills to use that’s not killing people, Hunter, that’s so good.”

Hunter looked at Fitz who sighed.

“I don’t know what happens when, or if the team gets here. I don’t know if we go back to SHIELD, and you know, whatever you were up to. I don’t know, but we also can’t stay here forever. It’s 1960s rural America, and we’re two European blokes from the 21 st century. We’d have to go, but that doesn’t mean we have to go back to the way it was before.”

Fitz still had a hold of his hand and pulled Hunter towards him until they were laying on the bed facing each other, open and closed parentheses from each bed , complete by themselves . 


	2. The Cabin, Year Two

On the anniversary of Fitz and Hunter’s crash, Ida set two keys on the table in front of them at breakfast.

“I want to thank you for all that you’ve done for me and this farm over the past year. It’s been incredible having you around. As a little token of my thanks, I bought the house down the road that borders with the farm so you may have your privacy but still be nearby.”

Hunter touched the key reverently, and looked up at Ida.

“Thank you.”

“I know it’s been a hard year, trapped a long way from home especially in the middle of nowhere like Iowa, but I appreciate everything that you’ve stuck around to do, long after you should have. If you still want to stay with me, then you deserve a little home of your own.”

They hadn’t meant to stay this long, but one day just slipped into another, and Ida had become their family. They’d become each other’s family. The farmhands, and the little old ladies at the farmer’s market, and the veterinarian, they’d become a little sitcom family that Hunter couldn’t bring himself to step away from. For the first time since he was a teenager, he wasn’t running for his life, wasn’t getting shot at, wasn’t following orders. He hadn’t killed anyone in a year. 

The real kicker though, what kept him from bringing up what their plan was, what kept him staying here in Nowhere, Middle of, Iowa was how happy Fitz looked. His nightmares were fewer and farther between, and he smiled more freely. He wasn’t as haunted as he was a year ago, all of his damage and trauma left behind in the future with all of their friends and family. All he wanted was for Fitz to be happy and safe, and apparently this farm was the answer. 

He met Fitz’s eyes, and there was something indescribable there,  that same confusion from their talk the night before but also joy, maybe. 

“Thank you, we’d be honored,” Fitz said to Ida, wrapping his hand around the key. “This is incredibly generous, Ida.”

“It needs some TLC, to be honest, but considering what you managed to do on the farm, I imagine fixing up a little cabin won’t be out of the question for you.”

Fitz laughed, and god, any god, all of the gods, Hunter loved that sound so much. It was happy, and free, and Hunter wanted to bury himself into the sound. 

“I do need you to fix that AC before you move on out there, though, because I’m dying here, sugar.”

Fitz agreed, laughing.

“I just have to run to the hardware store, they should have the part in today, and then I’ll fix it.”

After breakfast, Fitz got in the old Dodge and drove to town, while Hunter cleaned up the kitchen and went to check on his garden. Fitz had devised a watering system from an old sprinkler that Hunter could turn on with a twist of a knob and it would spray gently over the plants. 

“Sugar,” Ida said coming up beside him as he was checking the fence around the garden. “How are you doing?”

“I’m alright. Why do you ask?”

“Well, the walls in the house, they’re not super thick.”

Another reason Hunter never made a move with Fitz, even if he wasn’t, well, you know. 

“ Ahh ,” he said.

“You and Leo, you haven’t had nightmares like that in a while, and I was worried when I’d heard you the past couple of days. Is everything alright?”

“I am. Turns out I wasn’t handling something that I thought I’d taken care of and moved past, but luckily, I have Leo.”

“It’s good to have someone to look after you,” she said. “Nothing like a hand on your shoulder to keep you going, even if they can’t fix the problem, right?”

Hunter’s mum had said something similar when he was growing up. 

“When you can’t look on the bright side, I’ll sit with you in the dark,” she’d say, bundling him up and sitting him in her lap when he was scared, or had been hurt. He’d been an odd kid, unable to cheer himself up or focus on anything else other than the hurt, but no matter what, his mum would sit with him and let him know at least he had her in his corner.

“If you need anything, you let me know, okay?”

Her hand, warm and callused from long days on the farm, squeezed the back of Hunter’s neck, and he smiled at her. 

At the very least, he had Ida in his corner too.

* * *

They moved their small number of belongings into the cabin the next day after Fitz managed to fix the air conditioning , loading up the back of the Dodge and driving down the road.  They’d passed it a hundred times over the course of their year, but it hadn’t occurred to either of them to actually look at the cabin. Even on their after-dinner walks with Ida around the farm and the surrounding land, she’d never mentioned it.  The cabin  itself  was small, a  large room that made up the kitchen, living room, and dining area, a small bathroom, and a  single bedroom, but Hunter had never seen anything more perfect. There were obvious flaws, like the wiring being  completely backwards, and the sink immediately dripping, but it was theirs, a place for them to be alone, and not have to worry about what they said. 

“Wow,” Hunter muttered, setting his bag of clothes down onto the bed. There was a single bed, queen-sized, perfect for them. “Hard to believe it’s been a year already.”

“Yeah,” Fitz said, sinking onto the bed with his own bag. Ida gave them the day off to move in, and then they’d go back over to her house for a nice dinner.  From what Hunter could tell as he circled the room again , she’d  apparently also  stocked the cabin with books, and food, and entertainment for them. “How’d we get so lucky?”

“I honestly don’t know, love. I haven’t figured that out yet. I haven’t even figured out how I got lucky enough to have you as a friend here with me, either.”

Fitz collapsed backwards, laying horizontal across the bed. Hunter joined him, and turned onto his side beside Fitz.

“I’m glad, though.”

“Me too,” Fitz agreed. 

He took Hunter’s hand, and they stayed like that for a while, hands slotted together in between them on their bed.

Hunter’s heart had never been more confused. He’d always given Fitz space, and not pushed him, but Fitz kept doing shit like this, lying in bed with him, taking his hand, sitting closer than a friend would.  He’d actually  _ climbed  _ into Hunter’s lap the night before, although Hunter could write that off as being just as a means to comfort Hunter. __ Still, his resolve was only so strong, and if Fitz kept looking at him with those big blue eyes sparkling, he wasn’t going to be able to keep his promise to himself , or his hands. All it would take is a couple shots of Ida’s secret stash of what she called the Good Shit, and he’d kiss Fitz at the soonest opportunity.

He couldn’t afford to think like that. Fantasizing wasn’t going to make it better. In fact, in his past, fantasies confused him and he ended up doing something stupid. There was no way he was going to make Fitz uncomfortable, or ruin whatever this was before them. It was too important to him.

They stayed there for a long time, and Hunter started to drift off, more comfortable than he’d been in days. There was a quiet hum of a window unit cooling their home from the living room, so the air was quite pleasant. He felt like he could breathe for once. 

“Hey,” Fitz said softly  as the warm morning sun  moved to blanket the  bed,  _ their _ bed. “What are you thinking about?”

It was Fitz’s favorite question, Hunter had noticed over the year , a way to try and figure out Hunter while trying to work out how he felt himself. He asked it late at night when he couldn’t sleep, staring up at the ceiling, or early in the morning before the rooster crowed, both of them awake.  Hunter himself usually answered with some bullshit about being tired, or how Joe and Randy  were wearing matching rings like Hunter wouldn’t notice , or some other inane daily fact he could find to cover himself with. The truth was too complicated, too dark, too deep. 

He’d carefully created this persona around Fitz of someone who was flirty and free and didn’t care to get close to anyone because he’d been spurned before, someone fun but not someone you’d want to settle down with. It was calculated, trying to keep them just far enough apart that Fitz wasn’t as tempting as he could be. Except, for when Hunter had nightmares, and Fitz didn’t care about any kind of borders...

But Hunter’s mouth had always been the bane of his existence, moving before he actually meant it to.

“You,” he said, his voice soft, foreign to his own ears.

Fitz froze, mouth half open, shock and confusion registering at once. Hunter immediately stood up, a spike of heat running through him followed by a flush of shame.  So much for a carefully constructed persona and promises to keep.

“I’m going to get the last boxes from the car,” he mumbled.

Outside of their house, their new home, he leaned against Ida’s Dodge and let out a long breath. What a stupid fucking move he just pulled. This was exactly what he’d been working  _ not _ to do, and apparently moving in with Leo Fitz into a home of their own and laying in a bed of their own was too much for his brain to handle. He just spit his heart out right in front of him. 

There was a creak, and the sound of the front door shutting, and then Fitz was on the porch of their cabin, leaning against the railing.

“You alright?”

“Yeah, perfectly fine, mate,” Hunter answered. 

Fitz hummed, but Hunter knew that sound. That was his unamused, unconvinced hum, the one that meant he absolutely knew you were lying, and wasn’t going to accept your bullshit answer.

He’d heard it many times since they’d met. 

“Not super like you to bolt from a conversation,” Fitz replied. 

“I didn’t  _ bolt _ .”

All he got back was the disbelieving hum.

“Look,” Hunter sighed, crossing his arms and kicking at the dirt in front of him, “it’s not a big deal. I just – I know you have your thing for Simmons, and I don’t want to make this awkward.”

Fitz took a step down off the porch towards him, this hazy confusion in his features, and Hunter felt his heart seize up. He shook his head and turned to busy himself with the boxes in the back. 

“Let’s just forget it,” he said into the backseat. “Forget I said anything. I wasn’t thinking of anything at all.”

There was a box of notebooks that Fitz had somehow accumulated, filled with designs and plans and other chicken scratch musings, that had managed to wedge itself in the  footwell behind the passenger side seat. After a minute of scrabbling with it, he managed to get a hold on it.

“Bloody fucking box,” he grumbled, finally yanking it free. 

When he turned with it, he startled, Fitz standing right there. 

“You scared the fuck out of me, mate,” Hunter said, forcing a laugh. 

That hazy confusion was still in Fitz’s face, but below it, or a part of it, there was something like determination. 

“Put the box down,” he said soft. 

“What?”

“Put. The box. Down.”

Hunter put the box back on the seat and then, like in every fantasy he’d ever had, Fitz was kissing him. He was stunned for a moment, and Fitz, seeming to notice this, began to pull away, but Hunter caught the front of his shirt before he could go too far. The kiss was something all new to Hunter, Hunter who had kissed many men and many women, as if he were a wobbly kneed teenager trying to pretend like he knew what he was doing. He held onto Fitz’s shirt and let him crowd Hunter into the side of the car. Fitz’s hands cupped his face, stroking over Hunter’s cheeks, and all Hunter could do was hold on and pray that this never ended. He wasn’t like this, usually, wasn’t star struck or timid. A kiss had never blown him away. 

“Wait, wait,” he muttered, though, his mouth moving against his will again. “Wait.”

Fitz immediately released him,  while his  entire body down to the endings of his nerves screamed to get him back, not let him go too far. 

“Sorry. I didn’t -- I just wanted to see. Sorry.”

“No, we just probably shouldn’t do this here,” Hunter said, gesturing to the open. “1964 and all.”

Fitz’s face relaxed and he returned to Hunter’s space, and kissed him again.

“ Is that all?  Who’s going to see? The cows?” he challenged quietly. 

“You’re naughtier than imagined, Leopold,” Hunter said.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for years, Lance,” Fitz said, drawing away just to catch his eyes. “I’ve been waiting for you to make a move, because you flirt with everyone, I didn’t know if you wanted me the way you said you did, and if you did want me that way, you would have said something serious .”

“I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable?”

“Well, until just now, I didn’t think you were even into men. Beyond that, you’re in love with Simmons.”

“I’m not.”

“You were, then,” Hunter argued. “When we met, you were inconsolably in love with her.”

“Maybe, but she didn’t feel that way about me, and made it clear she never would.”

He tugged at the front of Hunter’s shirt to draw him back in, and kissed him.

“Every time I would climb into bed with you, I hoped you would get it, that I was trying to tell you, that I wanted you to kiss me every time.”

“You should have said something,” Hunter said. “I didn’t know.”

“We could have been doing this for  _ years _ ,” Fitz groaned, dragging his lips over Hunter’s jaw and down his throat. “I could have had my mouth all over you for  _ years,  _ Hunter.”

“If you’re going to keep talking like that, we definitely need to bring this inside.”

Fitz curled his hands around Hunter’s hips possessively, and Hunter couldn’t stop his brain from immediately wondering what it would be like to be possessed by Fitz. 

“Love,” Hunter murmured. “Come inside.”

Fitz’s smirk took a slightly naughty edge to it, and kissed him dirty and slow. Hunter couldn’t keep himself steady, leaning into Fitz until they were holding each other up just by their mouths. He scrabbled to grab onto Fitz’s shirt again , and somewhere in the back of his mind, there was a computer error noise repeating because there was no way this was real.

“Inside, before I take off your clothes where anyone can see,” Hunter said, trying to walk Fitz backwards towards their cabin.  Fitz went with staggering steps, not great with walking backwards apparently. “I can’t believe we’ve been sleeping in the same bed for a year, and you didn’t think I was into you.”

“I could say that same thing about you,” Fitz said. “We were sleeping in the same bed, because I got into bed with you first.”

“True,” Hunter said. “But I’ll reiterate this, I thought you were straight and in love with Jemma Simmons.”

Fitz stopped, and it was only Hunter’s training that kept them upright as they started to stumble over each other.

“Hey,” Fitz said, “I want to be clear here. I’m not straight. I’m not in love with Jemma Simmons. I do want this right here.”

He pulled Hunter in for another kiss, longer, slower, lazy like a summer afternoon, like they had all the time in the world. His tongue slipped in between Hunter’s lips like it belonged there, and Hunter couldn’t think of a reason why it shouldn’t.

Except, there was the sound of an engine coming up the road.

Except, they were standing out in the open.

Fitz may not be straight, or in love with Simmons, but it was still very much 1960s rural America outside.

Hunter broke away, and tried to ignore the quiet sound  of protest  Fitz let out. 

“Someone’s coming up the road,” he said, and even though they weren’t anywhere near the driveway to see them , Hunter fixed his shirt where Fitz’s hands had been, and stepped away. “We shouldn’t be doing this out here.”

Fitz turned towards the sound as an unfamiliar truck rolled up slowly past their front lawn. There was a cold spot forming around Hunter’s heart, fear icing over his veins, his courage. 

“I’ll see you inside,” Hunter said, turning and moving to grab the box. 

“Hunter.”

Hunter shook his head, not ready to work past the sudden panic in his chest. It was the same panic he’d felt when Ida had seen them in bed together, except now there was something at stake, there was something real for someone to find. Fitz had  _ kissed _ him. People like them, they weren’t exactly safe here in Iowa, despite what Hunter had fooled himself into thinking. 

Green eyes blackened  flashed through his mind, a man limping for the rest of his life,  kisses that  caused fists in the shadows of the bunker.  He couldn’t breathe for the ice in his lungs.

“This is – we can’t do this, Fitz. Not out in the open. Not here.”

He carried the box over to the house and brought it inside without another word. Fitz followed and stood to the side, leaning against the counter while Hunter set the box of notebooks on the coffee table for Fitz to sort through and handle.

“Hunter,” Fitz said again. “What are you doing?”

“Growing up, I heard all the usual bullshit about not being weak, not being a girl, a fag, you know, the really good toxic masculinity hits. I learned pretty quickly what was expected of me. There were blokes I fancied in school, but I saw the way the kids who acted on those feelings were treated, so I kept it to myself. So, when I was seventeen, I signed up for the army, and got the fuck out of Kent.”

“I don’t,” Fitz started to say but Hunter held up a finger and Fitz fell silent. 

“I thought it was something that I had to suppress. So, I spent years pretending that I didn’t like men, that there wasn’t a buddy of mine that I wanted so desperately to notice me. And then, he noticed me, and there was a time when we did exactly this,” Hunter said, gesturing around them. “We pretended we weren’t together in public, and then the minute we were alone, we were all over each other.”

There was a small sound as Fitz breathed in sharply that Hunter could have mistaken for the AC hiccupping if it hadn’t been for Fitz shuffling awkwardly behind him. 

“It was really good, but I didn’t know how to be anything else except hidden. It was my first time being with a guy, and it was all new and exciting. I didn’t know what it’s like to be open about it, to kiss someone in front of the world and say this one’s mine, and be so happy when they kiss you back to  say t hat you are theirs. It is not –”

He had to stop and shake his head, turning to face Fitz.

“He got the shit beat out of him when someone from our unit saw us together. He was younger, and smaller, and was really good at the explosives but not so much at hand to hand combat the way I was. So, they targeted him because he couldn’t fight back. He was in the infirmary for three weeks, with a concussion, broken ribs,  a hip fracture,  and a fractured orbital bone. When he got out, he wouldn’t even look at me. I think he’s in a happily repressed marriage to a woman he met at a grocery store now with two kids and a two-story house outside London somewhere.”

“Hunter, I don’t --”

“That won’t happ en for another thirty-some years, Fitz. Imagine what they’d do to us today if anyone saw us, what they’d do to  _ you _ .”

Fitz crossed the room to him and hugged him, hard and tight against him. 

“I’m sorry. I forgot I don’t know what you’ve been through. My experiences are not universal, and you have a right to be scared. I don’t want to hide what this is either, but I also don’t want to lose you. If you feel more comfortable waiting until we can go home, we will,” he murmured into Hunter’s neck where he tucked his face. “I can wait for you.”

Hunter sighed into the embrace, and let himself sink into it. 

He didn’t  _ want  _ to stop kissing Fitz in their home. He didn’t  _ want  _ to step away from this embrace and pretend like he wasn’t dying all over again. He could, because it meant that Fitz was safe, and no one would touch him. That’s what mattered, of course, that Fitz stayed safe, and unharmed. 

If anything happened to Fitz, Hunter wasn’t sure what he would do. Burn down the world. Tear apart Iowa. Create a new timeline. 

The fact that Fitz died once in another timeline that Hunter wasn’t there for squeezed his heart and wouldn’t let go. 

“I’m sorry,” Hunter muttered into Fitz’s neck. 

“Don’t be.”

“I shouldn’t have said --”

Fitz drew away and moved his hands to Hunter’s jaw, catching and holding him in place.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Lance. I don’t regret kissing you, not one single bit. I will keep my hands to myself, but you don’t have to apologize. I would rather know, and know how to support you, than be left in the dark.”

Hunter let out a breath, slow and steady, and rested his forehead against Fitz’s.

“Thank you. I thought I was past being scared, but --”

“You’re some place new. You’re some when new. Of course, you have a right to be scared.”

Fitz stroked over his jaw with gentle, almost  reverent fingertips, and Hunter almost kissed him. It would be so easy, just to tip his head a little, and slot his lips right against Fitz’s. They had fit so perfectly earlier. Hunter definitely had to stay away from the Good Shit if he wanted to have any self-control, especially now that he knew exactly what it was like to have Fitz pressed up against the length of him. 

“I need to let go,” Hunter said, “before I do something I can’t take back.”

Fitz released him, and they stepped away from each other. Hunter looked down at the box on the coffee table.

“I’m going to go for a run.”

He hadn’t worked out in a while, not traditionally. Pulling weeds and kneading dough was work out enough, he didn’t need to lift weights on top of it. But he’d always enjoyed a good run. It cleared his head, cleaned his lungs, felt like he was going somewhere and accomplishing something. He changed into a pair of shorts, the longest pair they could find shopping because fashion in the 1960s was apparently atrocious, and a t-shirt with his trainers, and set off at a jog back towards the farm. 

Whatever he did, it couldn’t put Fitz in danger. That he was sure of. He didn’t want to get hurt himself, either, but his number one priority since landing – or crashing, as it were – was Fitz’s safety. If he’d only thought of himself, he’d be in the cabin right now, Fitz underneath him moaning his name. God, he’d love to hear that.

He couldn’t think about that.

He couldn’t think about what Fitz might sound like as Hunter wrapped his mouth around his cock, or what it would be like to feel Fitz’s  fingers inside of him. He couldn’t think about laying Fitz out on the bed,  _ their bed _ , and kissing him all over, tasting every inch of bared skin, feel the way his muscles moved underneath his tongue. 

Thinking about that defeated the purpose of his run, which was to clear his mind and forget about touching Fitz. They’d literally  _ just  _ decided not to do anything about their feelings yet. Now was not the time to start fantasizing about Fitz’s hands, or the shape of his lips, the curve of his hips. 

Now was the time for running. 

Hunter kicked up his pace, moving to a full run down the land that stretched between their cabin and the farmhouse. He let his mind go blank, focusing only on his own body, on making it move faster, harder, the ache in his muscles worth it for the distraction. It’s why he was a good soldier, why he made it to lieutenant with a mouth like his. He could put aside his thoughts and follow orders, complete the mission no matter what. He could put this from his mind, at least until he saw Fitz again. 

* * *

That night was awkward, at best. They weren’t sure how to act around each other, what was okay, and what wasn’t. They acted normal for Ida’s dinner, laughing and drinking, but purposefully not touching. Hunter might explode if Fitz had casually grazed his fingertips over his arm anyway, and he wondered how Fitz would react if Hunter accidentally bumped his foot against his leg the way he used to. They didn’t touch because Hunter might launch himself at Fitz immediately if they did. But after they got back to the cabin, it was like they were repelled by each other, staying on opposite sides of the small room. If Fitz moved from the kitchen, Hunter moved into it. If Hunter moved to the living room, Fitz would move into the kitchen. 

It was ridiculous, and unsustainable. They only had one bed. 

“Should I,” Fitz said as Hunter migrated into the bedroom after having brushed his teeth and washed his face, “should I sleep on the couch tonight?”

Hunter swallowed against his immediate panic.

“No, mate, you don’t have to sleep on the couch,” he said fondly. “Come on. We can keep our hands to ourselves.”

“Speak for yourself,” Fitz said, and there was a playful little smile on his face. 

Hunter reached out and caught Fitz’s hand, and there was a moment where they just looked at each other. Hunter couldn’t imagine doing anything else, staring at Fitz, holding his hand in this moment, this snapshot of their life together. 

“Come on,” Hunter said quieter. “Come to bed, Leo.”

Fitz squeezed his hand, and followed him into the room.

The idea of dragging Fitz into bed and on top of him rushed through him.

It was going to be a lot more difficult that he imagined to keep Fitz at a distance. Instead, though, they climbed into bed with each other the same as they had the night before. Except as they settled, they did so on opposite sides of the bed instead. It was a start. 

Then, the nightmare started.

Hunter was back in the army, standing outside of the barracks in his uniform, staring out at an endless expanse of flat earth. His boots were dirty, covered in mud and blood, and the gun he held was heavier than usual. 

“Hey Hunter,” he heard behind him, the voice familiar, but as he turned around, no one was there.

He tried calling out but his voice wouldn’t work. 

There was a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye, but as he turned, no one was there.

He tried again to call out, but no sound came.

“Hunter,” the voice came again, closer.

He tried to turn towards it, but his feet were rooted in place.

It came in flashes after that, a group of guys he’d known for years, laughing and shoving each other, leaving the barracks, passing him. They called for him, but he couldn’t move to follow them. 

Then, green eyes and a lopsided smile came into view.

“Hey Hunter,” he said, that sweet soft English accent gentle in his ears. “Been a while, bud.”

“Daniel,” he said. The eyes and smile turned into a whole man, Daniel with his messy hair and rumpled uniform, arms down at his side, tattoos just starting to cover his upper arm. 

“You look really good, mate. Like, you got hot. Hot _ ter _ .”

“Thanks.”

“Why didn’t you come to visit me?”

“You never wanted me to.”

“No, I wanted you to. I was terrified, but Hunter, I always wanted you at my side. When you didn’t visit me after, I couldn’t believe that you – you were my best friend. I needed you in there with me, standing beside me, but you hid away. I needed you to defend me and care about me the way you always said you did, but you were just gone.”

“I tried to see you, but they said you didn’t want to see me.”

“No, I desperately wanted to see you.”

Hunter wanted to cry, staring at Daniel’s young face. 

Then, there was hands grabbing Daniel from the darkness, yanking him backwards.

“Lance!” Daniel cried out.

Hunter reached out for him, but he was still rooted in place. 

“Daniel!”

There was a strangled cry, and Hunter felt it punched through him, leaving an aching behind that Hunter was gasping to try and breathe around. 

“Hunter, wake up,” a voice came from somewhere else, but all Hunter could do was struggle against where his boots were buried in the mud. He had to get to Daniel, he had to. He had to save him, protect him, help him this time. “Hunter!”

He jerked away, soaked in sweat, gasping so hard he was edging on hyperventilating. 

“Hunter,” Fitz said, wrapping his hand around Hunter’s wrist.

“I,” he tried to say, but his voice broke. 

“Come here.”

Fitz guided him into his lap and wrapped himself around Hunter. 

“It’s okay, you’re safe. You’re okay. Take a deep breath.”

Hunter struggled but couldn’t, entire body shaking in Fitz’s arms. The weight and warmth of his body grounded Hunter and he gripped Fitz’s arm to feel something real under his hands.

“Hunter,” Fitz tucked his head against Hunter’s shoulder, “I know it’s hard, but you have to take a breath. Breathe with me.”

He pressed himself hard against Hunter’s back, and set a hand on Hunter’s chest, and guided him through breathing until his chest hurt less, and his breaths were coming evenly. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” Hunter murmured.

“You punched me in the face,” Fitz said.

Hunter jerked around and touched Fitz’s face softly.

“I didn’t mean –”

“I know.”

Fitz covered his hand with his own, and chuckled quietly.

“I’m okay. Don’t worry, you’re going to have to try harder to hurt me.”

Hunter felt strung out, the day long and the night dark. Fitz leaned his forehead against Hunter’s temple.

“Is Daniel the boy you told me about?”

“He is.”

“I’m sorry.”

Hunter leaned back into Fitz.

“I didn’t think it had affected me as deeply as it did, but apparently  I’ve just buried it instead of working through it, and now this,” he said gestured around them at the house, at the state, at 1960s rural America around them. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Leo,” Hunter sighed, and turned his head to catch his eyes. “You don’t have to be sorry. This is something I have to work through. You don’t have to be sorry for this, for me.”

It took a while to settle back down together, and this time they didn’t pretend they didn’t want to be pressed along each other. If they were going to pretend to the world like they didn’t want to explore each other’s mouths recklessly, they weren’t going to pretend they didn’t need to be there at night with each other. 

Hunter, usually the pillow Fitz rested against, was on top for once, resting his cheek against the firm warmth of Fitz’s chest, and he’d never been more comfortable. 

“Holy shit,” he muttered under his breath.

“What?”

“I’m never letting you be on top of the snuggle ever again.”

Fitz laughed, and Hunter felt it all the way down his body, where it started, where it ended. 

“Yeah, sure, like you’re going to be able to sleep on your stomach all night. You’re going to get grumbly in an hour about how you can’t breathe like this, and we’ll have to switch positions so you’re on your back.”

“You don’t know. You’re a really comfortable pillow.”

“I know, but you’re habitually a back sleeper, Hunter. Every night for a year you’ve slept on your back, even when we were crammed into a single twin bed, you slept on your back. I know you.”

Hunter smiled, and hid it in Fitz’s chest.

“Yeah, okay. Let me enjoy this, though.”

Fitz sighed, but soft and fond, and said, “okay. Anything you want, Hunter.”

* * *

It was better afterwards, less awkward. They found a rhythm to their new life. Hunter got up before Fitz every morning to make them breakfast, just to see Fitz sleepily stumble out of their bedroom. He always fell into a chair at the dining table, and drank half of the cup of coffee that Hunter had made for himself before realizing it was not his tea and switching the mug without shame. It happened every morning, and at some point, half asleep or not, Hunter was starting to expect it was on purpose. 

After breakfast, they’d head to the farm for work. Hunter had his garden, and Fitz was fixing up something that broke usually, or reconfiguring a system that worked but he complained wasn’t efficient. On their days off, sometimes Fitz would disappear to the library for research and would come back with a new swatch of his notebook filled with ideas. 

It was so nice that Hunter couldn’t believe this was real. 

He’d spend the morning in the garden, weeding and watering, talking to the plants the way he always heard you should. The morning was for the fruits and vegetables, making sure that they were growing well, and then after lunch, he’d spend the afternoon with the flowers. After the flower festival in the spring, Ida had loved how well his flowers had bloomed, and had taken him to the market to get flowers for the summer season.

After he’d finished his tending, he’d sit in the garden with a book and read if he had time, or with his own notebook plotting out landscaping ideas for the cabin. He wanted a little garden for themselves, something he didn’t have to tend to meticulously for selling, but just something he could keep an eye on, teach Fitz about something soft and slow like caring for plants. 

He tended to rose bushes, and looked after apple trees, and when he breathed in, he felt it deep into his chest. 

* * *

For Fitz’s birthday, Hunter woke him up with a full English breakfast in bed. He’d considered briefly being naughty for Fitz’s birthday, waking him up with a hand around his cock and kisses along his throat, but if they started, he might never want to stop.  Well, no, he definitely wouldn’t want to stop, and that would be unfair to Fitz.  So, instead, he made breakfast and had a bouquet of freshly picked wildflowers set in a vase on the nightstand. He couldn’t help himself from kissing his cheek, though, and murmuring a good morning to wake him up. 

“What’s this?” Fitz asked, sleep cracking his voice at the edges. 

“It’s your birthday,” Hunter said. 

“It is,” Fitz agreed. “Happy birthday to me.”

He sat up and shuffled back against the pillows as Hunter grabbed the tray and set it over his legs.

“So, here’s my coffee,” Hunter said, setting it beside Fitz’s tea. Fitz took a sip and smiled at him. “Yeah, I thought that might be deliberate. There’s a full English breakfast, and your tea, of course, once you're done with my coffee.”

“Are those wildflowers? Did you pick me flowers?”

“I did.”

“When?”

“I’ve been up for a while,” Hunter said. “A full English takes forever, apparently, and I don’t have Google to check to see if I was doing it right.”

Fitz laughed, and took a bite. His eyes fluttered closed, and there was that small, satisfied smile. They were so far from home, Hunter thought it might be nice to have something a little closer to home. He wasn’t sure exactly what Scottish breakfast entailed, but he’d grown up with a full English as a pick-me-up, and he wanted to share that with Fitz. When they got back to their time, he was going to hop on a flight, with Fitz in tow, and they were going to Scotland so Hunter could learn more about where Fitz came from. 

“I’m  gonna take you to Scotland someday,” Fitz said as if he’d read Hunter’s mind. “But damn, this is good, Hunter.”

Hunter grinned, pleased. 

Fitz looked around, and then frowned.

“Where’s yours?”

“What?”

“Where’s your breakfast?”

“Oh. I, I guess I forgot.” Fitz deliberately forked up another bite of food, and held it out to Hunter. “Oh, you don’t have to.”

Fitz gestured again with the fork towards Hunter’s mouth, who leaned in and took the food from the fork, which earned him a radiant, sleepy smile.  Fitz took turns feeding himself and feeding Hunter, pausing to drink about half of Hunter’s coffee before switching to his tea. Hunter had learned to drink his first cup before Fitz woke up, and then finish the cup Fitz left behind just to play into the act. 

“Is it nap time now?” he asked, stretching out as Hunter took the tray and set it on the dresser. “Because it’s been awhile since I had a full English and I need to nap.”

“It is, actually, because Ida agreed to give us both the day off.”

“And what are you planning to do with this wonderful day off?”

“Whatever you want, love. It is your birthday after all.”

“It is,” Fitz said. “Well, it certainly starts with you coming down here and letting me sleep on you for a little bit.”

Hunter obliged and started towards the bed.

“One more request, though.”

“What’s that?”

“Less clothes.”

Hunter quirked an eyebrow at Fitz who laughed.

“Not in a sexy way, just in a ‘your jeans are uncomfortably scratchy and your skin is not’ kind of way.”

“You can say you want me naked, that’s alright.”

“Hunter,” Fitz said as Hunter stripped off his jeans first and then his t-shirt just to be safe. “You’re supposed to be behaving.”

“I am behaving. You’re the one asking me to strip.”

He climbed into the bed and turned onto his back. Fitz settled into him, yawning as he rested his cheek against Hunter’s chest. 

“ Why are you doing this?”

“What?”  Hunter asked. “Celebrating your birthday?”

“ Yes , but  you, here,  this . All of this.”

“Just because we can’t date openly doesn’t mean I’m not going to slowly woo you until you’re desperately in love with me when we go home.”

Fitz laughed and shook his head.

“You’re incorrigible.”

“I do care about you, though,” Hunter said thoughtfully. “Whether or not we’re together, I still want to do things for you, like make you breakfast in bed and pick you wildflowers and do this, all of this, here. If you want me to stop, if it’s too, you know, much, I can stop.”

“No, it’s good for me. I like this. I didn’t expect you to be romantic, but I like it.”

Hunter curled his hand over the back of Fitz’s head and closed his eyes. Fitz needed a haircut, his curls starting to grow out, but Hunter couldn’t deny he did love being able to sink his hand into those curls. 

“Thank you,” Fitz said, halfway asleep already. 

* * *

After their nap, Hunter caught Fitz’s hand in the living room.

“There is something else,” he said, and led Fitz outside into their backyard. It wasn’t much yet, but Hunter had started a little garden for himself just outside the shed.

“This is our backyard,” Fitz said.

“It is. And it’s something else.”

He walked them both to the shed, and turned to stop them right outside the door. 

“I’ve been getting up early, and coming back here in the afternoons when you’re doing other stuff, and I’ve been clearing out the shed and – well, it’s better if I just show you.”

Stepping aside, he pushed the shed door open to reveal the interior. He’d, with Ida’s help, managed to outfit the shed as a small lab for Fitz. It wasn’t perfect, and it certainly wasn’t what Fitz was used to at SHIELD, but they’d stocked it with tools and equipment that they could find. 

“You made me a lab,” Fitz said. He said it quietly, standing in the doorway.

“Yeah, it’s not much. I know you’re used to state of the art equipment and you know, it being the 21 st century, but for 1960s rural America, I don’t think it’s so bad. Obviously, you can move stuff around, and replace stuff as you need, since you’re the genius here, but I thought – I know you miss being able to build and create, I know you’re not just a handyman for the farm, and I wanted to give you a space to be that genius.”

Fitz turned and threw a hug around Hunter, pulling him in tight.

“Thank you,” he said into Hunter’s neck where he had his face buried. “It’s the best.”

“I wanted to give you a place that’s your own. I know we have the house now, but I know I can be a bit much sometimes, and –”

Fitz kissed him on the cheek, lingering his mouth against Hunter’s skin.

“Thank you, Lance. It’s the best thing anyone has done for me.”

Hunter had to break the hug before his hands moved without his consent to places they weren’t allowed to yet. He couldn’t wait to get back to the future, except he didn’t want to leave this bliss here with Fitz. How could he possibly want both at the same time? 

“I know you’re particularly about where things go, so I can leave you to fix that up.”

Fitz nodded, and stepped into the shed. Hunter watched for a moment, studying how Fitz reacted, the way he interacted with the equipment, before the soft smile on his face turned into a look of determination. Hunter stepped away as Fitz pulled out one of the notebooks from the shelf Hunter had installed and slapped it open on the workbench. He went to tend the small garden, baby plants just starting to take root in the soil. 

This life they were building together, it didn’t seem real. Hunter was almost convinced some days that he’d died in the crash, and this was some blissful afterlife. Although, if this was the afterlife, if this was some kind of heaven, he would not be in the 1960s and he would absolutely have Fitz naked and moaning at every opportunity. If he were dead, there should be a lot more beaches, beers, and Fitz laughing. 

He sank his hands into the fresh soil just to do something.

How goddamn in love do you have to be for your own paradise to be someone else’s happiness? He tried to remember how it felt the first time with Bobbi, the rough and tumble of it all; falling in love with her had always been like skydiving without a parachute. They’d been such a disaster that Hunter hardly remembered how it started, beyond hot and heavy and like they’d never have to breathe without each other. They’d burned out just as quickly, married and divorced in a blink of an eye. Mack had tried to warn them, had tried to cool their violent relationship, but it hadn’t worked.

What would Mack say here with Fitz?

He could imagine it.

The way Mack would just know that Hunter was up to something, that he was hiding something. The way Mack could see the way he interacted with Fitz.

“What are you doing?” he’d ask. “Fitz? Really? Do you like self-destruction?”

Except Fitz wasn’t a powder keg the same way Bobbi had been. 

“You can’t hurt him, though. He’s been through too much for you to come in and destroy him,” Mack would warn him. “You can’t be with him if you’re going to get bored and leave him.”

Hunter had been obsessed with Fitz’s eyes, and hands, and smile, and voice, and the way he put his hands on his hips like a disappointed grandma for years. It wasn’t a passing fancy.

God, he missed Mack, though. And Bobbi. He missed the team he wasn’t even a part of anymore. Being with Fitz, here, in the past, away from everyone else, it was a nice reprieve, but he still ached for that family he’d known. 

It must be so much worse for Fitz who’d been so close to the team, who lived with them every day. They really were his family, close-knit and loving. It’d been a year without them, without communicating with them at all. Hunter would do whatever he could to help, he decided. 

He dug into the earth, pushing it away to make room for the plants he’d left nearby in their little containers, waiting for their new homes. They’d sink their roots into this earth, and stretch out, growing stronger and bigger every day. They’d learn to bloom new and fresh, learn to adapt to the conditions around them. They’d stretch towards the sun, and soak up all of the nutrients from its warmth. They were all different, some flowers, some fruits, some vegetables, and they all had different needs and some would take longer to grow. 

He’d voiced concern about one of the squash plants that hadn’t bloomed yet the year before, and Ida had just smiled and said, “oh, have patience, sugar. It just needs some time to grow, and needs you to give it the space to do so.”

It had turned out to be the one that had produced the most squashes that year, and Ida had nudged him and said, “see. Told  ya .”

He was learning patience here, slowly. 

* * *

They had dinner with Ida and the rest of the farmhands outside on the picnic table, and Hunter brought out a cake he’d made himself. Fitz blushed the same way he had the year before as they sang him happy birthday. He leaned forward to blow out of the candles, the same three he’d blown out the year before, keeping his eyes right on Hunter the entire time. 

* * *

There was a rapid knocking on their door early in the morning at the beginning of September, and then Ida shouting for them to wake up. Hunter was out of bed, and half-dressed before Fitz, who’d been sleeping heavier and heavier since they’d moved into the house, peaked an eye open. But he couldn’t wait for Fitz, his heartrate hammering that something was wrong, and something wrong was never good. 

On the front porch, Ida was breathing heavy.

“Come quick,” she breathed out. “It’s the girls.”

The girls, Hunter had learned, were the cows. 

“Okay,” he said. “Let me grab my shoes and let Leo know.”

She nodded, something frantic in her eyes. Hunter stepped back inside, grabbing the boots Ida had given him for his fake July birthday that year. Fitz was stumbling out of the bedroom, only one leg in his pants, and his shirt on backwards. 

“Hey, I’m going with Ida, something’s happening with the cows.”

“ Gi’me a –”

Hunter crossed the room and caught Fitz’s face, away from the windows, so it was just them.

“Go back to sleep. We’ve got this.”

“But,” Fitz mumbled, and his word turned round with a yawn. Hunter kissed his forehead, long and lingering. “Okay. I’ll stay. Hurry back, okay?”

“Always, love.”

Fitz turned and Hunter, unable to help himself, smacked his ass playfully as he headed towards the bedroom, to which Fitz gave him an over the shoulder middle finger. Hunter watched him disappear, tracking his figure, and then headed back to Ida. 

She ushered him into her truck, and took off speeding towards the house before he’d even shut the door. He’d ridden in the truck with Ida many times, to and from the market, from cattle and livestock auctions, from the plant nursery. She’d never once sped or driven recklessly, but Ida swung the truck out of the driveway at such a speed that Hunter had to grab onto the door just to stay upright. The barn was lit up as they pulled into the driveway, and he could see Paul at the gate with a flashlight.

“What happened?” he asked, sleep still crackling his voice. 

“I don’t know, I think some kids were messing around with some fireworks in the cornfield, but the girls got spooked, and got out, and some of them are hurt. I called Doc, and he’s on the way, but we need to get them back in the barn.”

It was slow, the girls didn’t want to come back into the barn, so even when Paul and Ida whistled for them, they didn’t move. That meant that they had to be coaxed in one by one. He considered going to get Fitz for another set of hands, but that would take too long and Fitz deserved to rest. Someone had to make sure they were all doing their jobs the next morning when they were zombies.

Hunter approached one of the younger cows, one that he’d actually been in the barn for the birth for. She had a wound along her side, probably from escaping, but she didn’t startle as he stepped close.

“Hey, little one,” he said quietly, keeping his voice even and low. He didn’t want to spook her again, especially not with her bleeding. “You’re alright. You’re just out for a nice midnight stroll, you know. That’s alright. We all need to get out and have a nice stretch of our legs. I won’t tell your mom that you’re up past your bedtime, alright?”

He’d grabbed a handful of treats that he’d shoved in his pockets for them, and he held one out to her. Cows’ mouths were weird, and Hunter had felt like such a city boy the first time he’d fed one out of his hand and practically squirmed at the feeling. It was easier now, still weird, but easier at least. Hunter hooked the halter around the cow’s head while she was distracted and started her off towards the barn where Doc had arrived. 

“Oh, look at the poor thing,” Ida cooed as he walked her out of the pasture.

“She’s alright. Nothing a little bribery couldn’t calm her down from,” Hunter said, letting her eat another treat from his hand. She’d been nosing at his pocket the entire walk back, so he figured she’d been through enough, she deserved another. 

“That’s all the injured ones,” Paul said, leading one last cow into the barn. 

“Paul and I can work on getting the rest of the ladies back into the barn if you want to focus on the ones who need attention,” Hunter said. 

“Okay, thank you.”

The rest of the cows came easier as they weren’t hurt and the night had gone quiet. They came when whistled, or by bribery with treats. The sun was just starting to peak over the land, the bruised night sky turning grey with the light, as they got the rest in, and Doc nodded at each one.

“I’ll stop by in a couple of days to make sure everything is alright, but it looks like they’re going to be okay.”

“Good,” Ida said, and Hunter could see the relief in her eyes. The cows were a major part of her income, and if any of them had to be put down for their injuries, that was dangerous for the farm’s continued well-being. “Good. That’s really good.”

Doc pat her on the shoulder and smiled.

“Everything’s okay, Ida.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “Yeah.”

After Doc left, and Paul headed home, Hunter stayed up, awake even if he was exhausted, to fix the barn doors. 

“Go home,” Ida said, nudging him. 

“No, I’m good.”

“Go home, Lance.”

“I’m already awake.”

She nudged him again with her dirty boot, but stopped halfway as the sound of a car engine pulling up distracted her. 

“Leo’s here,” she said. 

Hunter leaned back to see what she was seeing, and sure enough, Fitz climbed out of the Dodge with a frown, looking around until he spotted them.

“I’ll let him yell at you.”

Ida turned and headed back to the house to wash her hands. His own were covered in long dried blood, and saliva from the cows taking the treats from him. 

“I should have just come with you. Couldn’t sleep without you anyway,” Fitz said. He paused. “Is that blood?”

“It’s not mine. The cows, some of them got hurt.”

Fitz knelt down beside him and took his wrist to look at his hands, just to inspect them for himself. Hunter let him look and touch until he was satisfied.

“See, I’m alright.”

He said it quietly, gently. Fitz rested his forehead against the curve of Hunter’s shoulder and slid their fingers together. Hunter would stay there forever if he could.

“I was afraid,” Fitz murmured, and then stopped to shake his head. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s not. What were you afraid of?”

“That Hydra followed us here.”

“And I was just casually fixing a barn door?”

“Shut up, I said it was stupid.”

Hunter reached up with his free hand and smoothed his fingers over Fitz’s jaw and traced his cheekbone. 

“I worry about you every single day,” Hunter said. “Whether you’re safe, whether you’re happy, whether you’re fulfilled. It’s okay to be afraid and worried. I wish we had cell phones to talk to each other easier, but I’ll try to be better about communicating when we’re apart.”

Fitz sighed, and looked at him, eyes dark in the pre-dawn light. 

“God, I want to kiss you so bad right now,” he muttered, voice low that only Hunter could hear it. 

“I know,” Hunter said, taking his hand away from Fitz’s face. “God, I know, baby.”

“You can’t call me that if you want me to behave,” Fitz said, voice a whispered groan. 

“Good to know, love.”

Fitz groaned.

“Not that either.”

“What can I call you, then?”

“Fitz is fine.”

“Okay,  _ Fitz _ .” 

He made sure to say it quiet, and low, seductive in Fitz’s ear.

“Okay, alright, you’ve proven your point. You’re very sexy, and I am very weak.”

“You’ve never been weak, love. I’ve never thought so.”

He kissed Fitz’s cheek, and then turned away before he was tempted to go any further. 

“But I do actually need your help. Some punks set off fireworks in the yard, which exploded the door somehow? I don’t know, but I’m not the builder and fixer here. I grow plants and bake pies.”

“You’re very good at growing plants and baking pies, though.”

“Thanks.”

Together, they put the door back on the hinges and fixed it so it no longer creaked like a mouse had been stepped on. It had been on Fitz’s list of fixes, apparently, but lower until that night. 

“You are actually very good with your hands. I could show you how to fix things, if you wanted.”

Hunter looked at Fitz’s hopeful face.

“I’d like that.”

And then at his pleased smile.

* * *

The pumpkins did not want to grow that year, even after Hunter specifically tended to them and did the research.

“Sometimes, they just don’t want to,” Ida said, leaning against the post. “They’ll still sell for pies and pumpkin carving, at the very least.”

“Yeah,” Hunter said, puzzled. 

“Some years will be better than others, just like life. We should probably move the garden next year to another plot and let this plot rest.”

“Is that something you have to do?”

“Yeah, so we’ll let the earth rest, maybe let the weeds grow next year, let the soil regain its nutrients. We do it with the fields every couple of years so they don’t get dried out. We actually have one field resting this year.”

It was the one they’d crashed into last year.

She hadn’t ever asked about the literal space ship wreckage. 

“That makes sense,” Hunter said.

“Give it time, sugar. We may not win an award this year, but they’ll be good for something.”

* * *

Fitz was quiet one afternoon, sitting on the porch step, turning a half-finished gadget over and over in his hands.

“What’s wrong, love?” Hunter asked. “You’ve been quiet all day.”

“It’s Jemma’s birthday today,” he said softly. “I miss her, that’s all. I’ve never spent a birthday apart from her until this all happened. I’m just missing her extra today, and I wasn’t prepared for it. I thought I knew the depths of what it meant to miss Jemma, not being able to see her after so many years together. I’m not in love with her, but I do love her and it sucks to be this far away from her for this long.”

Hunter sank down on the step beside Fitz and nodded.

“I get it. I miss Bobbi that much  somedays .”

“I didn’t expect it to be like this. I miss her, and we’ve been separated before, across time and space, but it’s never been for this long. Every day, it feels like we’re moving farther and farther away from seeing them ever again. And I’m working on accepting that still, but I doubt I’ll ever be okay with being apart from her.”

Fits leaned into him and sighed.

“Sorry, I’m being sad.”

“You can be sad,” Hunter said. “You can always be sad. This is a weird life we’re living. Never been in the past like this before. Never been away from SHIELD, from the team, from the present.”

“Yeah,” Fitz agreed. “That’s certainly true.”

“You can miss whoever you want as deeply as you want. I’ve got your back here whenever you need me.”

* * *

The fall festival, as the year before, had been chaos, and Hunter loved every second of it. He’d stayed at Ida’s house for the leading days, falling asleep in their old room without Fitz and waking up through the night, spending the days baking and mixing and cooling and kneading. He’d never had arms quite as sore, not even in his days in the army. It was a good ache though. It meant he was creating something. 

He’d pretty much perfected pie crust, having made several dozen full size pies and mini pies to sell. They’d all sold, which was astounding, but what was even more so was the fact that Hunter knew every single person who came by the tent. Some he knew from the previous year, some he knew from the farmer’s market he and Fitz had been running, some he just knew from town. They all smiled at him, and asked how he’d been, how the farm was.  It astounded him how quickly they’d accepted these two European outsiders that had crashed into their town. 

“Well, I’ll be. There’s no pies left,” the actual mayor of the town, something Williams, said, stopping by the booth while Ida was finishing up with another customer.

“Unfortunately, ye –” which was as far as Hunter got before Ida almost literally hip checked him out of the way with a smile Hunter had never seen.

“Oh, you know I have something saved for you, Richard,” she cooed at him.

Ida was a strong woman, bold and brash and independent. In all of the time that Hunter had spent on her farm, by her side, and in her home, he had never heard a tone like that come out of her mouth. He’d seen her drunk. He’d seen her mad. He’d seen her hurt. He’d seen her happy. He had never seen  _ this _ out of her before, and honestly, all of his years of training as a soldier, a spy, a mercenary, all of it meant nothing. 

He couldn’t stop staring at Ida, and looking at this Richard guy.

Ida produced a whole pie from a crate that Hunter had unloaded himself, and he stared, confused, and concerned. 

He couldn’t wait to tell Fitz, though. 

Richard was attractive, certainly, but not exactly Hunter’s type, with his big broad shoulders and  barrel  chest, thick mustache, and slicked back salt and pepper hair. His hands were impossibly large as he and Ida spoke, each holding half of the pie she  offered .

Hunter had to turn away and start packing up the rest of their supplies before he made a comment. 

“It’s really very nice what you’ve done for these boys,” Richard was saying, and he could feel the significant look his direction without having to see Richard’s eyes. It had been a common thing said about him and Fitz, but it had settled down the more the town got used to them. He didn’t bristle at being called a boy the way he might have before. He wasn’t a child, and neither was Fitz, but he’d learned that it wasn’t meant to infantilize them. “Always knew you had a heart of gold.”

“Well, they’ve made it very easy. They’re good people,” she said. “Lance here helped make a majority of what we sold here this weekend. Except for this one, I made specifically for you.”

Hunter glanced at the pie in their hands, and sure enough, he had not made that one. It lacked the crimped edge he’d been perfecting over the past year. Ida always went for a more rustic look, citing that no one cared about the pie crust anyway. They disagreed on that, but still, he wasn’t sure when Ida had made that pie from start to finish as he’d been beside her the entire time. 

“That’s mighty kind of you, Ida,” he said. “What do I owe you?”

“It’s on the house for our very fine mayor,” Ida replied. 

Her accent, slightly Southern usually had dipped almost into full Southern belle. 

When the mayor left, Hunter looked over his shoulder at Ida, who caught his eye and said, “not a goddamn word, Lance Hunter.”

“I didn’t say a thing,” he replied with an innocent smile. 

“You have a very expressive face.”

“That’s not my fault.”

“Well, keep it to yourself anyway.”

He shrugged and went back to packing up.

He didn’t keep it to himself, because he was incapable for just leaving things alone.

“So,” he started a couple minutes later, “you like the mayor.”

“Lance!” she hissed, looking around them at the vacated booths. Most of the merchants had already packed up, and taken a break for dinner. They’d be back to break down the tents after a meal. 

“Ida, you’re blushing,” he said, reaching out to point and she pat his hand away from her face. “You  _ like like _ him.”

“You’re going to be sleeping in the barn tonight if you don’t behave,” she replied.

“You can’t make me sleep anywhere,” he said. “I have a house.”

“I’ll tell Leo you were being mean to me and  _ he’ll _ make you sleep in the barn.”

He narrowed his eyes at her.

“You wouldn’t,” he said.

“Keep testing me and find out,” she warned. 

He let it drop, but only because he didn’t want to end up walking home or sleeping in the barn. 

* * *

“Ida has a crush,” he said at dinner that night to Fitz, sitting across from Ida, which earned him a spoonful of mashed potatoes launched at him that hit him square in the face. “You can fling potatoes at me all you want, doesn’t stop the school girl giggle I heard out of you this afternoon, young lady.”

“Don’t listen to this man, he’s a spy and a thief,” Ida said in a stage whisper to Fitz.

“A true scoundrel,” Fitz agreed, passing Hunter his napkin anyway. “Tell me about this crush, though.”

Ida let out a long, put-upon sigh, but told them about Richard Williams.

* * *

Thanksgiving was just the three of them, everyone else from the farm electing to have dinner with their own families. They made too much food, and drank too much wine, and gorged themselves on an absurd amount of pie, and at the end of the night, Fitz and Hunter fell asleep in their old bedroom upstairs, Fitz tucked into Hunter’s side as usual. 

* * *

Winter was boring for Hunter, but Hunter helped with the cows and the chickens, making sure the heat was going, and they were eating properly. Fitz was constantly repairing something in the winter, his hands aching at the end of the day with use and the cold. 

“Hey, come here,” Hunter said a cool December night. Fitz’s hands had shaken most of the day, and he could see the frustration set in his shoulders. 

“What?”

“Come here,” he said again. Fitz walked over and fell into the couch beside Hunter. “Hands.”

Fitz held his hands out with a grimace, which faded as Hunter reached for the  salve he’d gotten from Randy who always complained about his joints after a long day at work. 

“What are you doing?” Fitz asked.

“Taking care of you,” Hunter said. He popped open the lid to the pot, and scooped out a small amount. He took one of Fitz’s hands in between his own and carefully worked the salve into his skin with long, slow strokes, using his thumbs to rub the joints without hurting Fitz. Once satisfied, he took the other hand, and repeated the motions, over and over until he was sure it had been worked in properly. “There. Feel better?”

“Yeah,” Fitz breathed  out, his voice quiet. “Definitely better.”

Hunter grinned, and closed the lid, setting it back on the side table. 

“Thought Randy was taking the piss, honestly, when he recommended it, but apparently, it fucking works. I’m going to have to apologize to him now, which sucks.”

Fitz was still staring at him as he went back to the book he’d abandoned, but he didn’t say anything else. 

* * *

Hunter went to bed on Christmas Eve a little tipsy from the eggnog that Ida had insisted they try, which was stronger than anything he’d had in years. He wasn’t a lightweight by any means but he certainly was going to be knocked on his ass by a couple cups of eggnog. 

“Oh, look at you,” Fitz laughed as Hunter tried to take off his shoes and stumbled right into the mattress instead. “You’re absolutely pissed.”

“Am not,” Hunter muttered, struggling with the lace on his boot. Fitz shook his head and knelt down in front of Hunter.

“I’ve got it.”

He carefully untied one boot, and pulled it away from his foot, tossing it to the side, and then the other. Hunter watched, unable to look away from Fitz knelt before him, sitting between his legs as he took off Hunter’s socks next. His mouth went dry with the way Fitz hooked his fingers into the band of each sock and pulled it carefully down and then off. 

“What are you doing?” he asked quietly. 

“Helping,” Fitz said. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“ Dunno , thought I’d ask.”

Fitz leaned in and reached for his jacket, unzipping it slowly. 

“Looks like you’re misbehaving, actually.”

There was a sly smile to his lips as he dragged the zipper down all the way, and moved in even closer to push it off Hunter’s shoulders to let it pool on the mattress behind him.

“Leo,” he muttered. 

“Yes?”

“We can’t.”

“Do you want to?”

“Of course, I want to. God, Fitz, of course, I want to. I’ve wanted to for actual  _ years _ , love.”

“No one is going to know what we get up to in here,” Fitz said.

“Mmmm, tempting,” Hunter whimpered. “You’re making this really hard.”

“Am I making you hard?” Fitz asked. He hadn’t touched Hunter yet, technically, so they hadn’t broken their own rules yet. God, he wanted to bulldoze through all of their walls and dive straight into Fitz , though.

“Jesus,” Hunter said. “Jesus Christ, Fitz.”

“Lance,” Fitz said. “Will you make an exception for your birthday?”

“It is not my birthday for another three hours,” he said, looking at the alarm clock on the bedside table. 

“Alright,” Fitz said, and he sank back away from Hunter. Hunter didn’t want to let him go, wanted him close, closer than he’d ever been. He wanted to have Fitz in his lap, their mouths deliciously together, moaning and whining. “For your birthday, then.”

Hunter eyed Fitz who smiled at him innocently, and then stood. 

“You should get undressed for bed; I’m going to get you a cup of water.”

“How are you not drunk?”

“I’m not a weak English lightweight,” Fitz said, trailing his fingers over his shoulder teasingly as he left. 

“Rude.”

He undressed as best as he could, and lay stretched across the middle of the bed right where Fitz normally laid at night , face down.  He curled around Fitz’s pillow, and breathed in his scent until he heard the tell-tale squeak of the floor board right outside their bedroom door as Fitz entered.

“That is my spot.”

“Sure is,” Hunter said to him without moving. Fitz set the glass of water on the bedside table, and then without warning or preamble laid directly on top of him. “This is nice. I like you on top.”

“You’re such a shit stirrer.”

“You’re the one on top of me, love.”

Fitz dug his wicked fingers into the soft spot along Hunter’s side that Fitz knew was ticklish. 

“Oh! No! Fitz!” 

Hunter cackled and wiggled underneath Fitz, trying to get away from his hands, except with Fitz’s body weight directly on top of him, he had nowhere to go. Except up into Fitz. He considered it briefly, lifting his hips directly into Fitz’s and seeing what happened. But given that he’d stopped Fitz from undressing him just moments before, it wouldn’t be helpful to test that boundary. 

Fitz paused, and whispered in his ear, “do you promise to behave?”

“Yes,” Hunter said. “I promise.”

Fitz shifted, purposefully dragging his hips into Hunter’s ass, both of them groaning a little bit at the contact.

“Sorry,  shouldn’t have done  that . That was mean,” he said, letting out a breath as he moved off Hunter. “You are still in my spot, though.”

“Come here and share it, baby.”

Fitz curled into him and dragged the blankets over them.

“Go to sleep, it’ll be your birthday in the morning.”

* * *

In the morning, Hunter woke up to the warmth of sunshine on his face, and a soft mouth moving along his neck.

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice crackling from sleep .

“Giving you your birthday present,” Fitz said, “if you still want it.”

“Yes,” Hunter said immediately , because fuck it, it was his birthday, and it was Christmas, and Fitz was entirely too hot to say no to.  “God, yes.”

Fitz’s hand stroked down his side, and then he was kissing him , and there was something hungry and feral about the kiss. Of course, they’d both not gotten laid in a year and a half, so that could be a part of it.  They’d wanted this for years, to touch without restraint, to kiss without limits. Hunter whimpered with the possibility of it all, and got a squeeze of his hip in response.

“What do you want?”  Fitz asked.

“I want you to touch me,” Hunter replied, voice breathier than intended. Fitz kissed him again, and slipped his hand into the waistband of Hunter’s sleep shorts. “Please.”

“I was going to tease you and make you wait,” Fitz said, “but I’ve been waiting for this for too long.”

And then, his beautiful, deft hand wrapped around Hunter’s half-hard cock, and stroked him slowly. Hunter let his head drop back and a quiet moan slipped out of him, and Fitz attacked his neck with kisses. 

“You’re so beautiful, do you know that?” Fitz asked, twisting his hand just right and Hunter bucked up into his hand. “You really are. I’ve wanted to get my hands on you for so long. You have remarkable self-control, you know, I’ve been struggling since that kiss to not touch you every night.”

“It was so hard not to,” Hunter managed.

“Certainly,” Fitz said, his hand doing marvelous things to the length of Hunter’s cock, now achingly hard under his touch. He kissed down Hunter’s neck, along his collarbone, down his chest. “Remember how I said I wanted to get my mouth all over you?”

“Yeah,” Hunter said. 

“I would like to get my mouth on your cock now,” he requested simply, looking at Hunter with wide, earnest eyes. “If you want, of course.”

“Of course, I fucking want, Leo.”

“Good.”

Fitz kicked the blankets away and his hand, sadly, disappeared from around Hunter’s length but only for him to drag the boxers separating them down and away from his hips. 

“Take off your shirt, please,” Fitz said. 

Hunter sat up just enough to drag his t-shirt off of his body and toss it away with the rest of his clothes. Fitz smiled at him and leaned in to kiss him again, slower and sweeter. Hunter would never get used to that, kissing Fitz so sweetly. 

“Baby,” Hunter muttered into the kiss, and pushed up towards Fitz. “Please.”

“You sound so good. God, you sound amazing begging. Calling me baby.”

He eased Hunter onto his back, kissing him all the way down. 

“I’m  gonna make you feel so good, though.”

“Could you get to that? Mister I’m Not  Gonna Be A Tease,” Hunter groaned. 

“I’ll take care of you,” he said, trailing his wet kisses back down Hunter’s chest and belly, pausing at his navel with a small, innocent kiss. “I do have to warn you, I haven’t done this since the Academy.”

“Really? No one’s asked you to suck them off? With that mouth?”

“People have hit on me, but there’s no one I liked enough that I wanted to suck them off. Until you.”

“And we could have been doing this since we met if we hadn’t been dumb.”

“Yeah. Let me know if you don’t like something. I’m also out of practice getting sucked off, so, you know, little bit of a learning curve here.”

“It’s like riding a bike,” Hunter assured him. “I’ll enjoy anything you do, except, you know, keep your teeth to yourself.” 

“Obviously,” Fitz said, taking Hunter’s cock back in his hand and stroking it again, considering it. He loved watching Fitz work with his hands, and looking down at Fitz settled between his legs with his hard cock cradled in his fist, Hunter could have died a happy man right there. Of course, he wanted to get Fitz’s mouth on him first, but this was a sight he’d never forget. If they went back to not touching after this, which was a stupid rule that he never should have implemented, he at least could have this image with him forever. 

Then, before Hunter could ask what he was waiting for, Fitz dragged his tongue along the underside slowly, tortuously from the base, and wrapped his mouth around the tip. He caught Hunter’s gaze, and smirked like the true bastard he was. 

“You look amazing,” Hunter breathed. Fitz swirled his tongue over the tip again, and wrapped his hand around the rest of Hunter’s length to stroke him. “Fuck, that feels good.”

He lost his words as Fitz sank further down, taking half of him into the perfect, silky heat, before he started to bob his head, slipping his tongue around in this deliciously simple and complex dance that Hunter couldn’t keep track of. All he knew was that Fitz had his dick in his mouth and it  felt bloody amazing. He couldn’t imagine what Fitz being in practice would be like, and every god on every planet on every timeline, he couldn’t wait to find out. He couldn’t wait to find out what Fitz sounded like with Hunter’s mouth around him, his fingers buried inside him, what Fitz looked like as he came, what magnificent curses that mouth might come up with. He couldn’t wait to find out if Fitz was up for more than one round immediately or if he needed a little nap between orgasms.

He wanted to find it all out, every last single thing about him. 

They’d grown so incredibly close that Fitz felt like an extension of himself sometimes, separate but also a part of him. It was hard to believe there was a time when he didn’t spend every day with Fitz, and he refused to believe there would be a time when they were apart. 

“You’re thinking too hard,” Fitz said, pulling off and using his spit to slick his strokes.

“Sorry, love,” he replied. “Just getting sentimental.”

Fitz kissed his hip and said, “what about?”

“Our life together so far.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, how far we’ve come, how impossible it all seems.”

“While I’m sucking your dick?” Fitz asked. “Says something about my skills if you’re forming those coherent of thoughts.” 

“It doesn’t,” Hunter replied, thumbing over Fitz’s cheekbone. “You’re doing marvelously, love.”

Fitz kissed the palm of his hand and then dipped his head back down to take his cock in his mouth, sinking down further. Hunter sank his hand into Fitz’s hair, curls long enough that he had something to grab onto, and he considered asking Fitz not to get his hair cut short again just so he had a handhold. 

Except his cock hit the back of Fitz’s throat and all coherent thought left his brain in a one-way trip. 

All he could say came out in long  voweled moan, head tipped back into the pillows. 

“God, Leo, that feels so good, baby. So good. Best fucking birthday ever.”

Fitz hummed, and Hunter let out something like a whine with the pleasure of it. It’d been a while since he’d gotten a blowjob, but it’d been even longer since he’d enjoyed it this much. Fitz was very good at it, and the fact that it was Fitz was more important than any technique or skill. 

He had to keep at least enough thought in his brain to keep from bucking up into Fitz’s mouth and gagging him, but it was very difficult when Fitz’s eyelashes kept fluttering against his cheeks, and he looked so obscenely beautiful. 

“Baby,” Hunter groaned as Fitz’s wonderful tongue cradled his cock perfectly, and Fitz looked up at him with those beautiful blue eyes, and apparently, that was it. His orgasm hit him all at once, bright and loud, and all he could do was tip his head back and moan Fitz’s name.

When he came down from the high, Fitz was wiping his face with the boxers he’d dragged off Hunter earlier.

“Did I come on your face somehow?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Fitz laughed. “I’m not a great swallower, honestly. Never have been.”

Hunter hummed, but reached out to swipe a splatter of cum that Fitz had missed along his cheek with his thumb. Before he could take his hand away, Fitz brought his thumb into his mouth and sucked the cum from his skin slowly, curling his tongue around the tip and sliding it down further to the first knuckle. 

“Fuck me, you’re actually obscene, you know that? You’re not legal.”

Fitz let his thumb go and moved to lay beside him, catching his lips with his own. 

“Happy birthday,” he said gently.

“Best birthday,” he said. “Merry Christmas.”

“Best Christmas,” Fitz echoed.

“Can I request one more thing for my birthday?” Hunter asked quietly.

“Of course, what do you want?”

“I would really like to get you off, too.”

Fitz smiled, and a cute blush spread across his cheeks.

“I would really like that,” Fitz replied. Hunter, finding the bones in his body had not  actually disappeared when he came, pushed himself up and into Fitz to kiss him. He leaned into Fitz, pressing him against the mattress and sliding his hands down to Fitz’s waist, up under his shirt. His skin was so warm underneath Hunter’s hands, soothing and familiar. There was scars that Hunter had seen but never felt before, and his fingertips edged over them slowly. 

“Let’s get this off of you, love.”

He dragged the shirt up and over Fitz’s head, tossing it to join Hunter’s clothes nearby, and he couldn’t stop himself from kissing wherever he could. 

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to say no after this,” Hunter said, running fingertips over Fitz’s chest, stopping to rub at one nipple.

“Don’t, then,” Fitz mumbled. 

“We’ll talk about that,” Hunter said. He slipped his thumbs into the waistband of Fitz’s pajamas pants. “These next.”

“You want them off, you take them off,” Fitz challenged. 

Hunter quirked an eyebrow at Fitz but tugged down the pants regardless. Fitz had apparently gone commando the night before, and his cock spring free easily and excitedly. 

“You haven’t even been touched yet,” Hunter commented. 

“Hearing you moan my name is quite effective as far as a turn on, apparently. All of you, actually, is quite effective as a turn on.”

Hunter ignored his erection to kiss back up his chest and to his mouth.

“Like this, this right here,” Fitz said, running his hands over Hunter’s chest and up to his neck. “You kissing me, you laying in our bed letting me touch you, you, everything about you, Lance.”

“Leo,” Hunter managed. Fitz’s words and hands along his skin were stirring in his gut, his cock hardening against Fitz’s hip. “This is supposed to be me getting you off.”

“You will. I promise I will let you put your hands and mouth all over me, we’re not skipping over that. But I need you to know exactly how much you mean to me, too. This isn’t just sex, and it never has been. Just being around you, fuck, sleeping next to you every night, I don’t want to do anything else, Lance. Ever. I want you beside me every night, every day, no matter what happens.”

Hunter couldn’t breathe, too overwhelmed with Fitz’s confession. 

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“I’ve never been surer about anything.”

He dragged Fitz into him, and slipped his tongue into Fitz’s mouth. He didn’t want to let go. If he let go, his heart might come spilling out of his mouth and then he didn’t know where he’d be. How could he explain that he was in love with Fitz and had been for a while and that it had reached the point where if anything happened to Fitz, he would lose his goddamn mind? 

“Fuck,” Fitz groaned into his kiss, and lifted his hips into Hunter’s. “God, so good.”

“How do you want it, Leo?” he asked, kissing along his neck again. 

“Just like this, you kissing me with your hand around my cock.”

“I can do that,” he said, skimming his hand down Fitz’s torso and wrapping confidently around the base of his straining cock. “I’ll take care of you so good.”

“I know you will,” Fitz said. “You always will.”

Hunter caught his eyes and stroked him slowly. 

“I will,” Hunter said. “Promise.”

Fitz groaned, and pulled Hunter down to kiss him. It was a little more difficult to get the angle right on his strokes with his hand trapped between them, so he shifted to the side.

“Mmm, no, come back,” Fitz whined. 

“I’m not going too far, baby,” he said, “just far enough to do this better.”

He twisted his hand around, and watched in delight as Fitz whimpered, head falling back against the pillows. His hips lifted to meet Hunter’s hand, quick and desperate. 

“See? Better?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Fitz agreed. “Don’t stop.”

“You sound so good, enjoying yourself, being a good boy for me.”

Fitz whimpered again, grabbing at Hunter’s arms and hips with quick moving hands, like he couldn’t figure out what to do, where he wanted to touch. Hunter kept his pace, stroking Fitz with even, firm strokes, twisting his hand around the head occasionally to slick his hand with Fitz’s pre-cum beaded there. Fitz was so beautiful, little breathy moans floating from him openly, hips twitching up and down under his touch, a faint sheen of sweat starting across Fitz’s skin. Hunter wanted to take a snapshot of this moment, memorize exactly how Fitz looked right then. 

“I love you,” Hunter said, and Fitz curled into  him. “God, Leo, I love you so fucking much.”

Fitz came just as beautifully as Hunter always imagined he would, mouth parted in an uncontrolled moan, back arched up into Hunter to press them flush to each other, one hand anchoring him to the sheets and the other coming up to grab at Hunter’s neck. Hunter rested his forehead against Fitz’s  as he came down  and pulled his hand away, sticky with Fitz’s drying come. He couldn’t help himself from  bringing him hand up to his mouth, and looking at Fitz, licking the come from his palm and fingers. 

“You’re a goddamn dream, Lance Hunter,” Fitz murmured, voice crackling. “Come here and kiss me.”

“Gladly, love.”

He set his hand down on the bed to leverage himself up and kissed Fitz again, slow and unhurried. 

“I love you, too,” Fitz said. “I was a little busy, you know, experiencing actual ecstasy, but I love you, Lance.”

Hunter laughed soft and free. 

“I know right after an orgasm isn’t the best judge, but I’ve never been happier than I am with you, Leo.”

“I know what you mean,” Fitz agreed. He tugged at Hunter’s hips until he collapsed half on top of him.  There was a quiet between them while Hunter settled into Fitz’s arms, familiar and sweet at the same time. “I don’t know what this looks like in the future. I don’t know how we handle this with the world outside. But I want to find out with you, you know, at your side.”

Hunter kissed where he could , soft, chaste kisses left as little love letters across Fitz’s skin . 

“I was stupid to say we shouldn’t try to be together,” he said, “especially because of fear. I want to be with you. I’ve always wanted to be with you.”

Fitz kissed his forehead.

“Well, you’re with me  _ now _ , that’s all that matters, yeah?”

“Yeah, you’re right, love. That’s all that matters.”

* * *

They had Christmas dinner with Ida, and exchanged actual gifts instead of just orgasms. They talked about other Christmases past. Fitz told them about the year that Simmons decided to learn to knit, and had made him the world’s worst sweater, made out of scratchy wool and had one long sleeve and the neck was off center. Hunter told them about Izzy, and Idaho, and the Christmas they’d stolen between missions. Ida told them about this horrendous fruit cake her mom made her eat to appease her grandparents when she was a kid. They were laughing so hard, Hunter couldn’t catch his breath for a second, and when he looked over at Fitz and at Ida, weightless before he took his next breath, this felt exactly like home, exactly like the Christmases as a kid with his mum and before his dad had been lost to grief.

* * *

Ida didn’t have a particular fondness for New Years, so they spent it wrapped around each other in the cabin, and kissed at midnight. 

“I want every New Year with you,” Fitz said. 

“You can have them,” Hunter said. 

They didn’t mention the team. 

* * *

“I’ve discovered a problem with not waiting until we get back,” Hunter said one afternoon on their day off together.

“What’s that?” Fitz asked, pressed into the kitchen counter as Hunter got his hands all over him, the curtains drawn to keep any curious eyes, and the cold winter air, out. 

“I was casually browsing the store with Ida earlier, and I don’t think lube was invented yet, love.”

“It was, but it’s by prescription only until 1980.”

Hunter stalled where he was kissing down Fitz’s neck.

“How do you know that?”

“Luckily, Vaseline has been invented, or we could always go ancient Greek and use olive oil.”

Hunter laughed and lifted Fitz up onto the kitchen counter before reached up into a cupboard, withdrawing the olive oil bottle.

“I like the way you think, baby.”

* * *

They were invited to baby Andrew’s first birthday party, and Paul’s wife, Pam, had requested Hunter back a special pumpkin pie for after the party, for their family to share at home. Hunter, who had found a love and an outlet in baking, gladly made a special pumpkin pie just for them. 

At the party, Pam passed Andrew into his arms with a smile.

“Hey bud,” he said. “Long time no see. You’ve gotten much bigger, but I’m afraid to tell you, mate, you are still very small. But you’re getting there. I’m so proud of you. A whole year of growing, and learning! What a good job you’ve done!”

Andrew looked at him with  wonderous blue eyes, and Hunter smiled at him. 

“I can’t wait to see what you get up to in the next year, mate.”

* * *

Winter didn’t want to let go, a fierce snowstorm blew through Iowa, leaving more than a foot of snow and the new buds on the trees covered in ice and frost. Fitz hated the winter, Hunter noticed, the cold hard on his injuries, made him crabby and cantankerous. He’d been looking forward to spring, waiting for the bitter cold to leave and the green warmth to come in. 

“Hey, we don’t have to go anywhere this morning, come back to bed,” Hunter said, catching Fitz’s wrist on his way out of bed before the sun had risen fully.

“You only want to use my body heat,” Fitz said. 

“I want to cuddle with my boyfriend,” Hunter replied, sleep still thick in his voice. It was the first time he’d actually called Fitz his boyfriend, and it felt weird on his tongue, not wrong but foreign. It felt a little juvenile given all that they’d been together. They lived together, slept in the same bed, had nearly died at each other’s sides, and now, it felt weird to settle for  _ boyfriend _ . But nothing else fit either. They were partners, but that felt vague and nonspecific. 

“You’ll cuddle with your boyfriend,” Fitz promised, leaning over the bed to kiss Hunter, “but your boyfriend’s got to piss first.”

“Mmm, romantic,” Hunter said. 

Fitz slipped out of his grasp and disappeared out of the bedroom, and Hunter drifted back to sleep. They’d been sleeping better, no nightmares, no trouble staying asleep. 

“Hey, wake up so we can cuddle,” Fitz said, poking at his ribs right where he was the most ticklish. Hunter rolled onto his back and Fitz tucked himself right into the space underneath his arm, head resting on Hunter’s chest easily. “I don’t hate the winter so much when there’s someone to cuddle with.”

“You just love me for my body heat,” Hunter yawned.

“I love you for a lot of things,” Fitz replied, “but your body heat is one of them. You’re an oven in the summer, but god, winter with you is perfect.”

“ Gotta keep you coming back somehow.”

Fitz kissed the underside of his jaw and slid his hand up under his t-shirt along his stomach.

“I actually have a question,” he said, looking down at Fitz’s hand inside his clothes. 

“Ask away.”

“You used to do that in your sleep,” he said, nodding to the hand, “before we were together, before we moved in here. Do you do that on purpose?”

“No,” Fitz said. “Not usually. It was probably an unconscious thing. I just like to feel your skin under my hand, it’s soothing.”

Hunter hummed.

“It used to drive me crazy. I didn’t know if it meant anything, or if it was just a habit.”

“You thought I had a habit of sticking my hand up people’s shirts?”

“Not, not like that. Just didn’t know what it was.”

Fitz looked at him.

“I wanted to touch you, but I didn’t let myself when I was awake. Maybe it just came out in my sleep.”

Hunter ran his fingers up into Fitz’s hair and kissed his forehead.

“I’m certainly not complaining. I liked you touching me.”

“Unsurprising.”

“I didn’t want you to stop, but I didn’t want to bring it up just in case it wasn’t about me, you know?”

Fitz shifted so he could kiss him.

“It was one hundred percent about you,” he assured him. “Ever since we got here, it’s been you and me beside one another. I was so used to having the team at our backs ready to aid that when we landed here with so much uncertainty, it was terrifying. And in the face of that, you took it in stride and gave me a place to feel steady. The fact that you didn’t tell me to fuck off or push me away, I was so incredibly grateful for that. You were, not to be cliché, but you were a rock for me when everything else was so uncertain and shaky.”

Hunter wrapped his arms around Fitz as best he could and kissed him again. 

“I don’t want to touch anyone  else, you know.”

“Good,” Hunter said. “I don’t want you to touch anyone else now.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

* * *

As soon as the ground thawed, Hunter was digging up the garden for flowers. He loved the dirt under his nails, and the feel of the soil sliding between his fingers. He wore the gloves Fitz had made for him when he was pruning and handling the bushes themselves, but he loved that clean feeling of getting his hands dirty. 

“What’s in the garden this time?” Joe asked, leaning against the fence as Hunter dumped a handful of seeds into the hole he’d dug. Joe was tall, the tallest worker on the farm by far, and built like a telephone pole. It was a wonder that he had any muscles at all and could stand against hard manual labor. He also constantly looked like he’d rolled around in the hay with his hair a wild mop of straw-colored hair and his clothes always rumpled. 

“The usual,” he answered. “Carrots, turnips, radishes, potatoes. And for the flowers, we have the pansies, poppies, daffodils, tulips. And the rose bushes over there.”

“I’m impressed. You learn pretty quick for a city boy.”

Hunter laughed. He’d gotten used to that attitude towards him, too.

“My past teachers would not agree with you there, mate,” he said. 

Joe laughed, open and honest. No one laughed like that in SHIELD, or in the SAS. 

“Besides I have a pretty good teacher,” he said, nodding towards where Ida and Paul were pointing out over the field. “Owe everything to Ida.”

“Don’t we all, man,” Joe laughed, and Hunter followed his gaze to Randy who was dragging a load of feed out of the back of the truck. There was love in that expression, open and honest. “Everything, and so much more.”

* * *

The Flower Festival was beautiful when it didn’t rain, the town square decked out in bright daisies and tulips. It smelled wonderful. Fitz helped them unload their bouquets from the back of the truck, and Hunter loved to watch him work. 

“I love this place,” Hunter said softly standing outside of their booth, smelling the sweet floral and the frying oils. 

Fitz leaned in and looked over his shoulder. He wanted Fitz to put his hands on his hips or slide his arms around his waist, press his body along his back, kiss his neck. He couldn’t and wouldn’t ask Fitz to do that, not here, but he wanted it. 

“It is beautiful here.”

The nearby lamp post had been wrapped in flowering vines and twinkling lights. 

“There’s a dance here tonight,” he said, “underneath the stars, between the fairy lights. I wish we could go.”

“Me too,” Fitz said. “If we get back to the Lighthouse, I’ll hang flowers all over, and we can dance by the Ontario.”

Hunter laughed and looked at him, blue eyes bright in the sunshine. 

“I’d like that.”

He didn’t mention the if, the slight concession that the team might not come for them. 

“Are you two going to stand around, or are you going to help today?” Ida asked.

“I thought I’d stand around, personally,” Hunter said, turning towards her at the same time as Fitz did. 

“It’s a good day for standing, certainly,” Fitz added.

“A good day, indeed.”

“Indeed, a good day.”

Ida rolled her eyes and heaved a heavy sigh towards them.

“I deeply regret the day I took you in some days,” she replied.

“There’s an entire booth worth of my handiwork that says you don’t,” Hunter reminded her. The booth was overflowing not just with flowers but cookies and cupcakes and pies that Hunter had spent three days making. 

“I don’t see anything,” she said as she set down a vase with a ribbon that Fitz had taken thirty minutes to tie. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure. You just tell that to the poor hands,” he said, wiggling his fingers at her. He’d gotten pricked harvesting the roses for the show so many times, his hands were mostly bandages.

“I told you to use the gloves,” Fitz said.

“I forgot them at home.”

“Three days in a row,” Ida added.

“That’s -- you stay out of this.”

“A home that is less than a kilometer from the farm where you were working.”

“It’s a mile, Leo; this is America.”

Fitz rolled his eyes at Ida, who rolled her eyes back at him just to show him that she could. 

Hunter moved back to help set up the table. 

“Is that the mayor?” he asked.

“Where?” Ida asked, snapping to attention and fixing her blouse. She looked around and then smacked Hunter playfully in the chest. “Don’t do that!”

* * *

Hunter’s roses somehow won an award that he hadn’t realized existed. It came with a ribbon, and Ida took obvious glee in sticking the ribbon to his shirt before they headed home.

* * *

“Hey, I got you a birthday present,” Fitz said, falling into Hunter’s lap gracelessly in summer. 

“You already got me a birthday present,” he said. “Or don’t you remember the stunning orgasms we shared in this very house?”

“No, no, that was your birthday present. This is your half birthday present. The fake birthday. Come along.”

He grabbed Hunter’s hand as he stood, and towed Hunter out of the cool air conditioning back into the sticky heat of summer. 

“Well, admittedly, I’m  _ getting _ you a present, but I wanted some input before I actually built it.”

“Built what?”

Fitz stepped him into the shed which had since been expanded and looked more like a second house than a shed these days, and turned on the lights. He had a design table filled with papers, everything in the very organized chaos that Hunter had grown to love. 

“Here,” he said, fixing Hunter in front of the table and standing beside him. He dragged a schematic for a building towards them. 

“Is that a greenhouse?”

“It is.”

“You’re going to build me a greenhouse.”

“Yeah, I know you get bored in the winter, and miss your plants. I figured I could give you something to keep you busy, take your mind off the cold.”

Hunter touched the designs with reverent fingers. There were books at the edge of the table to his right, all taken from the local library, about greenhouses. He turned and caught Fitz’s face, dragging him in for a long, slow kiss, unhurried in this space. 

“I love it,” he said. “Thank you.”

“I have the materials on order, and they should arrive within the next week. We just need to pick a spot for it.”

“Thank you.”

And he meant for more than just the greenhouse.

* * *

Two years came quicker than Hunter could ever imagine. 

One  second he was crashing into the earth and dragging Fitz to safety, and the next they had a home in the country side. There was no word from the team, and Hunter was starting to feel like they’d never get back to their own time, back to their friends and family. They’d put down roots, permanent structures in the land, marked this spot as their own. If the team showed up the next day, Hunter wasn’t sure he’d leave this place, with the half-finished greenhouse, and the growing garden beside an engineering lab made from an old shed, from the cabin they slept in and had made their own. Fitz had insisted on painting the rooms after he’d finished rewiring the house and fixing the roof, so they’d bought paint and spent a couple afternoons in early spring replacing the faded blue and yellows with warmer shades. It felt like home.

Fitz  _ was  _ home, though.

If Fitz wanted to leave when the Zephyr touched down, no matter what they’d built here, Hunter would go. He couldn’t imagine wanting to be anywhere where Fitz wasn’t.

* * *

“We should get a dog,” Fitz said the next before their anniversary came, his feet tucked under Hunter’s leg on the couch, another design notebook propped on his knees.

“A dog?” Hunter asked.

“Yeah. You love Beau, we could get one for home. Maybe not a working dog, but someone to keep you company in the gardens.”

Hunter smiled.

“Yeah, a dog would be nice.”

Fitz grinned.

Maybe Fitz didn’t want to leave, either. 


	3. The Cabin, Year Three

“Happy anniversary,” Fitz mumbled into his neck as the alarm went off bright and early, bare bodies barely covered by a thin sheet Fitz insisted on even in the summer when Hunter barely wanted Fitz touching him, let alone a sheet. 

“What?”

“It’s our anniversary, anniversary of crashing here, almost anniversary of me kissing you. We’ve basically been together for a whole year now.”

“Baby, we were basically together long before that.”

Fitz tweaked his nipple playfully.

“Don’t start something you’re not going to finish,” Hunter warned, but he slid his hand into Fitz’s hair and pulled his head back gently to kiss him. “Happy anniversary.”

Fitz grinned at him, and nuzzled into the crook of his neck. 

“Did Ida give us the day off?” 

“No, but I’m sure she has some kind of surprise planned for us anyway,” Hunter replied, stretching and feeling his spine pop. He let out a groan, and moved to sit up. “We should get ready, I guess.”

Fitz flopped gracelessly onto his back and pouted, and Hunter couldn’t stop himself from leaning over and kissing Fitz’s pouted lips.

“If you hurry, you can shower with me,” he offered, moving away and standing. Fitz watched as he grabbed the towel from the back of their bedroom door and headed for the bathroom, and just as Hunter was stepping into the bathroom, he heard the squeak of their bedframe as Fitz stood to join him. He busied himself with starting up the water, which always took a couple minutes to warm up, even in the dog days of summer. Fitz came up behind him and pressed his body into Hunter’s back, arms wrapping around his waist while kissing the back of his neck and over his shoulder. “Hey mister.”

“Hey,” Fitz said, and Hunter could feel the smile against his skin. “This is probably stupid to say, given everything, but I’m glad we crashed here. I don’t know if we’d ever gotten our shit together if we hadn’t.”

“I like to think we’d have gotten there eventually.”

“It took us a year of sleeping in the same bed, me kissing you because you finally slipped up and said something, and then six more months of us pretending like we weren’t hopelessly in love with each other.”

“That could have happened in 2019, you don’t know.”

“Maybe, but I like it here with you. I don’t have to worry about you getting shot at, or blown up, or you know, any of the other ways SHIELD agents can die. Right here, all I have to worry about is you, and this house, and making sure the farm doesn’t break while I’m not looking.”

“That is nice.”

Fitz kissed his shoulder again. 

“What would you do if you weren’t SHIELD?” Hunter asked, testing the water again. It was warmer, but not there yet. 

“Clearly, be a farm mechanic,” he answered.

“I’m serious.”

“I don’t know, probably work for some tech company. I hadn’t really considered life outside of SHIELD. I haven’t had the luxury.”

Hunter hummed, leaning back into Fitz. 

“You?”

“Well, I have a little more idea of what I’d do outside of SHIELD, obviously,” Hunter commented. After he and Bobbi had taken the fall to save the team, they’d been left outside in the cold and had had to make do. Hunter had fallen back into mercenary work then, but if they left SHIELD now, he had other skills. “But it’s different now, isn’t it? I’m not just a mercenary or an agent anymore. I can – I think I’d want to run a plant nursery.”

Fitz grinned into his shoulder.

“That sounds perfect.”

“Yeah?”

“ Mmmhm ,” Fitz agreed. “No one shoots at plant nursery owners.”

Hunter laughed.

“Come on, in the shower,” he said. He stepped into the tub and left the curtain open for Fitz to follow. Fitz eagerly stepped in and pulled Hunter into the spray of water with him. Being with him was always so easy, working beside him a dance they’d nearly perfected. They didn’t often shower together because Fitz claimed Hunter was  handsy , which wasn’t untrue, of course. He wasn’t the only  handsy one, though, which Fitz would adamantly deny even as he was running his hands down Hunter’s sides or grabbing his ass. 

He loved Leopold Fitz, that he was sure of, that he would always be sure of. In any time, in any home, working any job, he would always love Leopold Fitz.

* * *

Ida did have a surprise for them, but it wasn’t exactly the surprise that Hunter had been expecting.

“Here,” she said, dropping a basket of clothes into Hunter’s arms as he stepped into the kitchen. “These are for you and Leo.”

“Why do we need a basket of clothes?”

“Because yours are two years old now and ratty as hell. And I won’t have my workers looking like peasants.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Does this have anything to do with the mayor promising to stop by this week?”

She shot a glare at him.

“No,” she replied.

“ Mmmhm , sure,” he said. “I’ll take these to the car.”

“No, no, you’ll grab Leo and you’ll change right now.”

“Ida,” he started to argue, which was a mistake as it usually was. She wasn’t that much older than him, but somehow, Ida had this energy about her that made her dangerous to argue with her. Fitz said she gave off mother vibes, which Hunter could see. 

“Lance.”

He sighed, and set the basket down on the table, then turned to go find Fitz.

“Hey Fitz!” he called from the porch as Fitz’s form headed towards the barns. Fitz froze and turned. 

“What?”

“Apparently we’re terrible to look at, and Ida wants us to change.”

“What?” Fitz repeated. Hunter shrugged.

“We’re ratty peasants.”

Fitz started walking towards the house.

“What caused this?” 

“Oh, I’ll give you a guess,” he said, leaning against the porch rail and wiggled his eyebrows at Fitz.

“ Ahh , Mayor Hot Pants,” Fitz replied.

“Don’t call him that!” Ida yelled from the kitchen. 

Fitz followed Hunter into the kitchen where he grabbed the basket of clothes and headed up the stairs to their old room to change. 

“Must clean up to impress our new step-dad,” Hunter said to Fitz, making sure his voice carried into the kitchen.

“I’m not afraid to beat you, I don’t care if you’re not my children,” Ida threatened. Hunter ducked into the room before she could throw anything up the stairs at him. She’d done it before. He was used to it. 

Once inside and the door shut behind them, Hunter started unbuttoning the short sleeve button down he’d grabbed that morning, something he didn’t mind getting dirty in the gardens. He had his shirts that worked for getting down in the mud and the dirt on the farm, and then, although he had less of them, he had his socially acceptable shirts that he wore on their excursions to town and to the market. 

“Didn’t think I’d get you naked this fast today, but I’m certainly not going to complain,” Fitz said, sinking into one of the twin beds that had been separated again since they’d moved out. He propped his head up on his hand, and stared at Hunter with unabashed interest. Hunter’s hands stalled and Fitz pouted. “Don’t stop on my account.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

Fitz’s pout turned sweet with a smile, and he bat those long lashes at him.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“ Mmhm , sure.”

He unbuttoned his shirt and set it on the dresser, then kicked off his boots one at a time. The entire time, Fitz did not take his eyes off him, tracking him as he undressed down to his briefs. 

“Are you going to change?”

“I will, I’m just enjoying the view first.”

“The view is better up close,” he said lightly.

“Most masterpieces are viewed from a distance.”

Hunter laughed, and stepped into Fitz’s space. He nudged Fitz back and climbed up onto his lap so he was straddling his thighs. 

“Was that a compliment, Leopold?”

“As if I don’t call you beautiful every night,” Fitz said, kissing under his jaw. “As if I don’t practically worship you every day, and tell you how much I love you.”

“You’ve never called me a masterpiece before.”

“You are,” Fitz said. “You are a work of art. You belong in the Louvre. I would get a PhD in art just to be able to adequately describe how absolutely stunning you are.”

He slid his hands up from where they rested on his hips to rest against his chest, one palm directly over Hunter’s heart.

“You’re going to make it so hard to put my clothes on and go back to the day.”

“Told you we should have stayed in the cabin today. We should have stayed in bed, naked, making each other moan. I want more than one orgasm for our two-year anniversary, Hunter.”

“You’ll have plenty tonight, I promise.”

“I don’t know, will we have time? You know I like a nap between coming.”

“I’ll keep you up all night, baby,” he cooed, leaning into Fitz and sliding his hands underneath Fitz’s shirt. “I’ll do whatever you want, for as long as you want. You just have to behave for the day.”

“Will you do that thing I like with your fingers and –”

“Yeah, I’ll do that.”

Fitz grinned. 

“Good.”

Hunter nuzzled into Fitz and sighed with how good it felt to just hold him, be held by him, rest against him without fear. Ida wasn’t a threat to them, and if she walked in on this, Hunter didn’t fear for his life. 

“I want to tell Ida,” he said suddenly. 

“What?”

“I want to tell Ida that we’re together, actually together.”

“She knows already,” Fitz assured him.

“That’s not the point. I want her to know because we told her, because we trusted her with this, not just because we’re obvious about it.”

Fitz looked at Hunter carefully, eyes tracking over his face, and Hunter wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he stayed still, and let Fitz look as long as he wanted. Hunter wasn’t shy, had never been shy, barely even knew what shy was at this point in his life, so when Fitz stared, he often let him without flinching. 

“Okay. We’ll tell her.”

* * *

Most days, after work, Hunter and Fitz went home for dinner. That night, Ida had invited them to stay for dinner with her, and she made her famous (or infamous, according to some of the farmhands) chili. They ate outside in the sunshine, and laughed openly.

“Hey,” Hunter said after they’d pushed aside their bowls and were drinking a bottle of wine that Ida had picked up for them. “We actually wanted to talk to you about something.”

He drained the last bit of wine from his glass and set it down on the table. 

“What’s going on, sugar?”

Ida set her own glass down, half finished, beside his.

“It’s nothing bad,” Fitz added before she could worry. 

“Okay,” she said. 

“We wanted to tell you officially, because you’ve been very good to us, giving us a roof over our heads, and jobs, and teaching us, when you literally didn’t owe us anything. You gave us a place to belong when you could have turned us away, and we are eternally grateful for that,” Hunter said. Ida’s expression went soft. “It’s been a wonderful two years here, and we cannot begin to thank you. I cannot begin to thank you. So, we thought it was only right that you should know that Leo and I are together.”

Ida nodded with her soft, understanding smile.

“Yeah, sugar, I know that.”

“I told you,” Fitz said, nudging him.

“I was always taught that you can’t assume you’re on the same page as someone,” Hunter said, thinking back to his mum and his dad, arguing over dinner again and again, miscommunicating as usual. “We have different perceptions, given our different experiences in life, so it’s better to be explicit about what you mean, and what you want, rather than assume that the other party will understand.”

Fitz snorted at that, and Hunter elbowed him playfully.

“Thank you for telling me, though,” she said. “I know it’s not easy, or safe for you to be honest about this, so I understand the caution. You are always welcome here, no matter what. I know, I know it’s dangerous for you, but you are loved, and welcome, and perfect just the way you are.”

She reached out and curled her hand around Hunter’s on the table.

“How are you so cool about this?” he asked.

“Oh, well, most of the nurses in my unit were together the same way. They were good girls, and damn good nurses. What do I care if they kissed each other? What do I care if you kiss each other? Doesn’t stop you from being excellent workers, and good people.”

Hunter smiled, and squeezed her hand back.

“Thank you.”

“You two are the most wonderful people I have ever had the pleasure to call my friends, and my family, so you do not need to thank me, Lance.”

She stood up and leaned over the table to kiss his forehead. 

It was such a motherly action that a twinge of grief for his own mum sparked through him unexpectedly, and he gripped her hand for a moment against it. 

“So,” she said, sinking back down into her seat, “how long have you two been together?”

Hunter looked at Fitz, who shrugged, answering, “about seven months.”

“What?” she asked. “You two have been cuddled up together since you got here.”

“Officially, it’s about seven months,” Hunter explained. “We’re still – well, we were figuring it out.”

“In that Lance couldn’t figure out that I was into him,” Fitz said.

“Hey, look, it’s not my fault that when we met you were still making eyes at Jemma.”

“Literally years ago, I had some feelings for Jemma. And have since grown out of those feelings.”

“You could have let me know that, mate.”

Fitz rolled his eyes, but it was the fondest expression Hunter had ever seen in his eyes. 

“As if sleeping in the same bed wasn’t supposed to be indicator enough.”

Ida chuckled, reaching for her glass again. 

“We’re not all super geniuses with multiple PhDs, love,” Hunter replied. “Some of us need it spelled out. Layman's terms.”

“I’ll be sure to spell out that I’m not interested in Jemma next time.”

“Thank you,” Hunter said. 

“So, wait,” Ida said, glass halfway to her mouth when she set it down again. “You’ve lived with each other for a year separate from me, and it took you almost six months.”

Fitz shifted to look at Hunter.

“Yeah, Lance, it took you almost six months.”

“I’m not having this argument with you here,” Hunter said, but there was no heat to it. He looked over at Fitz, and Fitz was smiling, open, honest, loving. He’d dive into Fitz right then if he could. 

“Well, better late than never.”

“I will drink to that,” Fitz said, and both Fitz and Ida raised their glasses. Hunter raised his own, empty but still worth the gesture, and they clinked them together with matching, echoed smiles. 

* * *

Fitz completed the greenhouse a week after their anniversary there, late at night after Hunter had fallen asleep on the couch with a book propped open on his chest while waiting for Fitz to come back inside. Fitz woke him up with a gentle shake, and a proud grin.

“Come on,” he said. “It’s finished.”

He grabbed Hunter’s hand and towed him outside before he was fully awake.

“Okay, so, I went a little off-book, because I could, and you deserve something better than anything engineers in the 1960s could offer.”

“Of course,” Hunter yawned. Fitz led him inside, and flicked a switch by the door. A series of uncovered bulbs strung up along the ceiling came to life, illuminating the interior. He’d built it about the same size as the shed, longer than it was wide, with three long tables running from one end to the other parallel to each other. The tables were empty save for a couple of plants he’d clearly picked out himself resting closest to the door. There was a work station directly in front of them where Hunter could repot and care for plants, with a bin installed just to the right of the door which he had already filled with rich dark soil. “Leo, this is amazing.” 

He stepped up to the work station, and found a brand-new pair of gardening gloves hung up on a hook next to the tools he’d need, and a shelf of his books on gardening and plant care he’d curated over the past year from the thrift store and the small bookstore in town.

“I figured you deserved a nice space the same way I did.”

Hunter turned and grabbed Fitz, pulling him in for a hug, sinking into his embrace eagerly. 

“Thank you,” he said. 

Fitz kissed his temple, and replied, “you deserve everything, Lance, and I promise I’m going to do everything I can to make it happen for you.”

Hunter gripped the back of Fitz’s t-shirt and buried himself deeper.

“I’ve got everything I've ever wanted right here.”

* * *

“You’re old,” Hunter said to Fitz on his birthday, chin resting on his chest as Fitz woke up for the day. “You’re officially old. You’re almost 40 now.”

“Mmm, if I’m old, what does that make you?”

“Ancient.”

Fitz cracked a sleepy smile. 

“That’s okay,” Fitz mumbled, “I love you no matter how old and grey you are.”

“I am not going grey,” Hunter said.

“I saw a couple last night when you went down on me.” He ran his hands through Hunter’s hair, which he’d been letting grow out a little past his usual buzz, mostly because he loved the way Fitz’s fingers carding through it felt. 

“Don’t joke about that.”

“I’m not joking,” he said. 

Hunter frowned up at Fitz who smiled and kissed him softly.

“I told you, though, I love you grey or not. Growing older with you isn’t a curse for me. A lot of people we’ve known, our friends, our family, a lot of them didn’t get that privilege. Hell, I didn’t get that privilege, apparently.”

Hunter closed his eyes as if that might shut out the reality that the other timeline Fitz died without Hunter at his side, crushed under falling rubble.

“I will love every single grey hair you have, Lance, and I can’t wait to grow old right next to you.”

“You sure? My dad was a right bastard as he got older.”

“Your dad was a right bastard before he was old, so I think I’ll be fine with old Lance.”

“You have too much faith in me, love.”

“No, you don’t have enough faith in yourself. You and me, we’re born from angry bastard men, sure, but I’ve never once been afraid of you, afraid of what you’d do. Even when we disagree, you never are violent or hurtful. You are not your dad. I know you, and I know how kind, and thoughtful, and loyal you are. I also know that no matter how many times you fought with Bobbi, you never once made her feel unsafe, even as your marriage was falling apart. You are a good man, and you’re only getting better.”

“I want to be here, I want to be good for you,” Hunter said. 

“You are. Come here and kiss me.”

Hunter shifted and kissed Fitz as requested, Fitz’s hand curling into his hair to hold him in place. Fitz’s other hand pressed into Hunter’s side until he moved, following the guide until he was on top of Fitz, one leg on each side of his hips. He wasn’t often on top like this, not that he minded it at all, feeling Fitz’s interested erection press into his ass. Which meant...

He rocked back intentionally, and drew a groan from Fitz. 

“Enough of this talk of growing old, though, it is your birthday, and it is time to celebrate you.”

* * *

“Hey, have you seen Beau around?” Ida asked a few days later.

“No, haven’t seen him.”

“It’s weird,” she said. “He always comes home.”

“Yeah. He’ll show up.”

* * *

Beau was brought back to the house by a farmer a few miles away, having caught him with his own dog, Baxter. 

“Apparently we’re bad influences on the dog,” Fitz said under his breath, nudging Hunter playfully as the farmer walked away.

“Shut up,” Hunter laughed, shoving him away.

“You were a bad boy, huh, Beau,” Ida said, kneeling down to scratch behind Beau’s ear. “We should get you looked at anyway. I’ll call Doc in the morning.”

* * *

“Okay, well, Beau is fine,” Ida said to Hunter and Fitz at the lunch table the next day. “Beau is apparently a female.”

“Apparently?” Fitz asked. “You didn’t know?”

“No, Doc never mentioned, and never corrected when I called Beau a male.”

“Interesting.”

“She apparently went into heat and tracked Baxter’s scent down. Doc is  gonna have me bring her in in a couple weeks to see if she’s pregnant.”

“Oh, puppies!” Fitz said, nudging Hunter.

“It’s like you spoke it into existence.”

“What’s that now?” Ida asked.

“Leo mentioned getting a dog, and now Beau might be having puppies. But we didn’t really want a working dog like a collie.”

“Oh, well, they’ll certainly be mutts. Baxter is a  rottweiler , or at least mostly.”

Hunter shrugged at Fitz.

“If she’s pregnant, we’ll talk about it.”

* * *

Mayor Richard Williams was all the farmers at the market could talk about one Saturday in the middle of September. Apparently, it had been revealed that he wasn’t a widower as he’d claimed, but instead his wife had left him and taken their child to New York City to live with her lesbian lover. Except, they did not call her a lesbian lover, but they strongly implied it. 

“I like her,” Fitz said, leaning into the table to be able to hear their booth neighbors gossiping. “I mean, I’d certainly leave my wife, drag my children to a city of immigrants and liberals, and shack up with my lover.”

Hunter laughed.

“Do you have a wife and child you’re not telling me about, Leo?”

“No. Well, I have Simmons, who is the closest thing I have to a wife, and there’s Deke, who’s basically a child.”

“Oh, right, your  _ grandson _ . What does he call you again?”

“Bobo,” Fitz said with a nose wrinkle.

“I still don’t think I understand how Deke exists.”

“I don’t think I do either. In his timeline, Jemma and I had a kid, but it was never explicitly stated if we were together or not. Somehow, our daughter got married to some guy on a space station, and had a  _ Deke _ .”

Hunter laughed, and looked at Fitz, the way the autumn sunshine played over his face.

“Do you want kids some day?” he asked. 

“Yeah, I think so. You?”

Hunter had to stop to think. Did he want kids? He and Bobbi had flirted with the idea exactly once, the night of their wedding when they were riding high on newlywed dopamine, but they were not parent material then, especially not together. But with Fitz? Without a doubt. He’d die of absolute happiness the day Fitz held their child. 

“Yeah, I think with the right person.” 

He made a very suggestive eyebrow wiggle at Fitz.

“Me too,” Fitz agreed, and he nudged Hunter with his foot under the table. 

“Think Ida would mind what happened to Williams?”

“It doesn’t change anything about Mayor Hot Pants. He wasn’t abusive or a bad guy at all. He just got left. That’s not his fault.”

“That’s true.”

Fitz rested his head on his hand, staring at over the market.

“Williams’ life is the plot of Friends,” he said sometime later.

“What?”

“Ross, his wife leaves him because she’s gay,” Fitz commented. “And they have a kid at some point.”

“Maybe they were the inspiration.”

Fitz laughed, and rested his hand on Hunter’s thigh under the table. 

“Oh, the Hot Pants himself,” Fitz said, nodding towards the entrance. Every eye in the market was on Mayor Williams as he walked through, smiling like nothing had changed. He made eye contact with the mayor and waved. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t know,” Hunter hissed as the mayor turned and headed for them. “Being nice?”

“Could you not?”

“Too late.”

The mayor stepped up to the booth with his signature smile, and looked around.

“No Ida?”

“No, she leaves us to handle the market. She has errands to run on Saturdays,” Fitz replied. “She’ll be back at close to help us pack up and take us back to the farm.”

“ Ahh , fine woman, that Ida,” he said. Hunter managed to not make a face, but just barely. 

“Yeah, we owe her a lot.”

The mayor glanced to the left where the stall next to them, a dairy farm selling goats cheese and milk most weeks, were staring openly at him, whispering.

“I should go,” he said. Hunter had never seen the man look nervous before.

“Well, we’re always here every Saturday if you wanted to stop by,” Hunter said. “And I know you’re always welcome at the farm.”

“Thank you, Lance. That’s very kind of you.”

Hunter nodded, and the mayor moved on.

“Where did that come from?” Fitz asked.

“I don’t know, he looked nervous, like the world was about to Sparta kick him down a hole. I thought he should know he still has some friends in his corner.”

“Hunter,” Fitz said softly. “You have a soft spot for him.”

“I do not!”

“You wouldn’t do that for anyone else. Ida’s rubbed off on you, and you have a soft spot for the mayor.”

“No.”

Fitz grinned, and his knee bumped into Hunter’s.

“You do, you have a soft spot, and you like him. Admit it, Lance. You, Mister Mercenary, like the mayor of Marietta, Iowa.”

“I’m going to dunk you in the lake if you don’t stop.”

“You’re coming with me if you do.”

Hunter narrowed his eyes at Fitz, but Fitz didn’t seem fazed. 

“One day, that mouth is going to get you in a lot of trouble.”

Fitz smirked and replied, “it already has.”

* * *

Beau was actually pregnant with what Doc estimated to be six puppies.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Ida said with a laugh. “Looks like you’ll get your dog after all.”

Hunter nudged Fitz, who nudged him back, and they smiled at each other.

* * *

They picked out, when the puppies were old enough to leave their mother, a female who had thick fur already and had the  rottweiler coloring, including the angry eyebrows. The rest were given to farms Ida knew would take care of them, and families looking to raise a puppy with their kids.

“She’s got May’s face,” Hunter said, sitting on the floor in their kitchen. “Look at how angry she looks.”

“She does not.”

“May has given me that exact expression before, I swear, love.”

The puppy tumbled over her feet, and wiped out in front of where Fitz was sitting on the ground.

“Oh. Yeah, that definitely looks like Melinda May,” Fitz scoffed.

“I’m just saying. We could name her after May.”

“You want to name this adorable little puppy Melinda?”

“No, actually I was thinking Cal.”

“Cal?”

“Yeah, short for Ca v a l ry.”

Fitz laughed, tipping his head back and laughing loudly. 

“I actually don’t hate it, but May can never find out. If she finds out, she will murder us.”

“I’m willing to take the risk.”

“What do you think, Cal? Is that you? Are you Cal?” Fitz asked the puppy, his voice ratcheting up higher. “Yeah, you’re a Cal.”

She tumbled into his hand and gnawed on his fingers, and then fell into his lap, yawning. 

“I love her,” Fitz cooed. “I don’t even care what Melinda May would say about us naming her Cal. I love this dog so much.”

Hunter smiled and watched as Cal settled into Fitz’s lap, his pointer finger in her mouth as she nibbled, and fell asleep. 

* * *

As was tradition, Hunter spent the now-four days leading up to the Fall Festival in Ida’s kitchen, and Cal played in the house with him while Fitz worked and went home. 

Thursday night before the festival opened, he went to sleep in the old room with Cal asleep at the foot of the bed, and woke up at 3:30 as Fitz crawled into bed with them.

“Hey,” he croaked out, shifting so they fit better. It’d been awhile since they’d had to shove into a twin together and Hunter had forgotten how deeply uncomfortable it used to be. 

“It’s too quiet in the cabin.”

Fitz settled against his chest, and his hand slipped up under his shirt to rest against his stomach. 

“Sorry,” he said, kissing Fitz’s forehead. 

“I tried working myself to sleep, but it was hard to lay there in the quiet without you two.”

“The weekend will be over before you know it.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, but there was something sad and off about his voice.

“What?”

“I know you love the Fall Festival, but I kind of hate it. It always takes you away from me. You don’t get enough sleep. You’re exhausted by the end of it. And, for what? A bake sale and some pumpkin contest?”

Hunter chuckled, resting back. 

“Are you jealous, baby?”

“No!”

He danced feather touches up Fitz’s spine.

“You’re jealous of a stove and a pumpkin for taking my attention away from you.”

“No,” he replied, face buried into Hunter, voice muffled against him. 

“You’re an attention whore if I’ve ever met one,” Hunter teased.

“I am not,” Fitz grumbled. 

“You are.”

He traced a pattern over Fitz’s back and to his sides where he knew Fitz was ticklish. 

“Don’t.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Lance,” he warned.

“Yes?”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Just don’t.”

“Don’t -- oh, don’t do this?”

And Hunter dug his fingers into Fitz’s sides in just the right spot. It was like Fitz had been shocked every time, his entire body  spasming and flailing to get away from Hunter’s fingers as he involuntarily laughed. Hunter used that to his advantage and flipped Fitz onto his back to give himself better leverage and angle on Fitz. 

“No, no, no,” Fitz laughed out, pushing at Hunter’s chest, “not fair.”

Hunter dropped down and kissed Fitz’s neck teasingly.

“ Uhhh ,” he groaned, head falling back as Hunter’s fingers stilled. “Not fair at all.”

Fitz dragged his blunt nails along Hunter’s skin from his hips to his ribs, pushing up to kiss Hunter slowly. 

“Fitz,” Hunter managed as Fitz dragged him in closer. 

And then dug his fingers into Hunter’s arm pits mercilessly. Hunter jolted and, in the process, managed to fling himself out of bed, forgetting it wasn’t their queen-sized in the cabin. He crashed to the floor with a loud  _ whump.  _

“Oh, shit,” Fitz laughed. “You alright?”

“Ow,” he groaned, laying on his back on the ground. “I probably deserved that, though.”

“You definitely deserved that.”

“I won’t apologize, though.”

“You never do.”

Hunter made a face in the dark at Fitz and pushed himself off the ground. 

“Scooch,” he said, crawling onto the bed with Fitz who turned onto his side for Hunter to cuddle behind. He hooked an arm over Fitz's waist and tugged them so they were touching from shoulder to feet, parallel lines so close they were one. “That’s much better.”

“Yeah,” Fitz agreed.

Cal tucked herself back behind Hunter’s legs with an irritated huff. 

“Why don’t you just stay here tomorrow night?” Hunter asked into Fitz’s neck.

“What?”

“Don’t go back to the cabin. Stay here with me.”

“Lance,” Fitz said, “you could easily come home instead.”

“I tried that last night but Ida convinced me that it would be better and easier if I stayed in the house because we could get more work done.”

Fitz slid his hand into Hunter’s, lacing their fingers, and brought them up to his lips.

“Come home, okay? I can go the day without you, but I hate the night when you’re not there.”

Hunter sighed and kissed where he could on Fitz’s neck, softly.

“I’ll come home. I promise. I’ll always come home to you.”

* * *

The bake sale, even though they made more pies and cakes and cookies and breads than the two previous years, sold out before the end of the festival.

Ida made eyes at the mayor the entire time, who was clearly making eyes back at her. Hunter teased her quietly about making a move, and she smacked him playfully telling him to mind his own business.

Hunter’s pumpkin won second place, and Ida proudly stuck the ribbon to his shirt before they went home.

* * *

When they went home Sunday night after cleaning up their booth, Hunter sank into the couch in the cabin with Cal at his side, and grabbed his notebook he’d been taking notes about plant growth and ideas from his books on their care. And he started to write.

It was a letter to Bobbi, one he didn’t know if he’d ever send, or give to her, depending on their future here. He wrote to her about Fitz, about everything he loved about their life together, and about the farm. He wrote about Ida, and Paul, and the kid that bore his name, and the cows he let eat treats from his hands, and the chickens that wandered the farm free. He wrote about Cal, and the greenhouse, and gardening. He filled up page after page, letting it all go.

He felt freer as he wrote, letting this buoyant happiness keep him afloat.

* * *

Pretty quickly, Cal had become their life. It was as if they’d brought a newborn into their home, worrying after her and making sure she wasn’t getting hurt, cleaning up after her, keeping her fed, keeping her entertained. She chewed up a lot of their stuff, and peed on every surface she could, and willfully would not sleep at night. But god, Hunter had never loved something this much. Fitz smiled so much around Cal, watching her tumble over her feet that were too big for her little body, watching her decide which toy she wanted to destroy that day. He laughed, and played, and even though Cal followed Hunter around the barn and the greenhouse during the day, he cuddled with her when they got home. 

She loved the car. Every time they drove from the farm to the cabin, she insisted on standing in the passenger seat with her head out the window, no matter who was in the passenger seat that day or how cold it was outside. In the morning, as they were heading for work, she’d run out in front of them and wait at the passenger side door for them to open it for her. 

She was very intelligent, even when she was very dumb. Fitz taught her to sit first, and then wait. She understood that a whistle meant to come back to Hunter, and she never went after the plants after her first couple redirections. The chickens, although they tended to stay inside once it got cold during the day, were extremely fascinating to her, but she never attacked them, merely sniffed at them and then went on her way when they weren’t nearly as interesting as she’d first thought.

“We should always have a dog,” Hunter said.

“Always?”

“Look at her,” he said, gesturing to Cal who had fallen asleep on top of the stuffed toy they’d bought her in the middle of the floor, toy still in her mouth. “She’s perfect.”

Fitz smiled and nodded.

“SHIELD should have a mascot.”

“Given how many bases I’ve been in that have been compromised or exploded, maybe not the best idea,” Fitz replied. 

“That’s fair.”

“But yes,  _ we  _ can have a dog, even if SHIELD doesn’t.”

“We could just take care of and have SHIELD’s mascot.”

“That’s the same thing.”

“Don’t argue semantics with me.”

“I will argue semantics all night,” Fitz said, throwing a nearby dog toy at him. Hunter caught it and tossed it towards the crate they’d gotten for Cal’s toys. They never stayed in the crate because Cal always insisted that all of her toys be out all of the time, no matter how many times they put them back. 

“Is this what parenthood is, though?”

“I don’t know,” Fitz replied. “Never had a kid myself.”

“You do have a Deke.”

Fitz laughed, and agreed, “I have a Deke.”

* * *

For his birthday, Fitz and Ida had apparently pooled together their ideas and resources, and bought Hunter a whole stack of books, both fiction and nonfiction on gardening practices, and a bundle of seed packets of uncommon plants found in Iowa. 

“This is amazing,” he said, shuffling the seed packets to read each one. “Thank you. I can’t wait to see these grow.”

Ida grinned.

“I expect some delicious food, you know,” she said, nudging him. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied. Ida stood up to get them a refill on her eggnog.

“I actually have one more present for you,” Fitz said. “But it’s a more private kind of affair that will have to wait until we get back home.”

“Oh, is it?” Hunter asked.

“ Mmmhm .”

Fitz kissed his cheek, and stood to help with the eggnog. 

“Tease,” he called. 

“Impatient.”

He got distracted by a tug on his pant leg, and picked up Cal to sit in his lap. She was getting too big to sit in his lap already, and he suspected she was definitely going to be on the larger side. He’d always wanted a dog, something his dad never allowed in the house. He thought that Lance wouldn’t have been responsible enough, that he would fuck up the dog and get it hurt.

“Hey Cal, do you want a piece of ham, huh?”

“No table scraps,” Fitz scolded.

Hunter stared at Fitz as he took the piece of ham off his plate and let Cal eat it from his hand. 

“Lance!”

“She’s been eating my scraps since we brought her home. It’s too late.”

“Lance,” Fitz said with a frown. “I can’t believe you.”

Hunter grinned and scratched Cal behind the ears.

“Wonderful,” Fitz said.

“I know. Isn’t she perfect?”

Fitz rolled his eyes, but turned back to where Ida was mixing the drinks. 

“Leo just has a bad attitude, huh? You deserve the most of everything you want.”

“You’re going to be the type of father who spoils the kids rotten,” Fitz said.

“Thinking of having kids?” Ida asked.

“We’d like to,” Fitz said. “But, you know, it’s hard for people like us. We can’t have a kid naturally, but the adoption agencies don’t exactly hand out kids when you’re, you know.” 

“I hope that changes. You would be great parents.”

Hunter covered his mouth and smiled behind it, keeping Cal in place with his other hand. 

“Thanks, Ida,” Fitz said. “That’s really kind of you. I hope so, too.”

* * *

Back at the cabin, Cal fell asleep on the couch and Fitz towed Hunter into the bedroom behind him and shut the door. 

“Baby,” Fitz said, stopping them just by the bed. “Take off your clothes.”

“Take them off yourself.”

Fitz rolled his eyes and stepped up to Hunter. Piece by piece he removed Hunter’s clothes, starting with his flannel, his undershirt, teasingly slowly his belt. 

“I hope this is going somewhere,” he said as Fitz kissed over his skin, sucking bruises into collarbones like they belonged there. 

“It will. It’s your birthday. You just have to be patient.”

“I’ve never been good at that and you know it.”

“I know, you like as many orgasms as you can get.”

“I do,” he agreed. “I definitely do.”

“But tonight, baby,” Fitz said, finally unbuttoning his pants, “tonight, I’m going to show you the wonder of patience. I’m going to show you colors you’ve never seen, and leave you gasping.”

“Mmm, promises.”

“I’ll make good, you know I do. You just have to trust me.”

Fitz pushed his pants off his hips and let them fall to the ground.

“I know,” Hunter said. “I trust you always, with all of my life, for the rest of it.”

His hands gripped Hunter’s hips hard enough that they would leave bruises. He’d gladly take any bruises from Fitz’s hands, his love left physical on his body for the world to see. He kept them to himself, not just because it was 1964 outside, but because this thing between them, whatever words you wanted to put to it, this was just for them. Those marks, those were just for Hunter. 

“I love you so goddamn much, Lance Hunter. Happy birthday, baby.”

“I love the way you say that.”

“What? Baby?”

“No, well, yeah, but also, I meant that I love the way you say my name.”

“Good. Until we can get married, it’s going to sound just like that.”

“Married? Are you proposing?”

“Not just yet. But someday, Lance Hunter, I am going to make a proper husband of you.”

“That’s a hard job. Even Bobbi couldn’t do it. Are you sure you’re up to the task?”

Fitz grinned. 

“I’m willing to put in the work, because it’s you.”

* * *

On New Year's Eve, they toasted their team, hoping for their happiness and safety, and fell asleep on the couch together with Cal between them. Life was good.

Hunter was indescribably happy.

* * *

For Andrew’s birthday, Hunter made them a pumpkin pie, and dropped it off at their house. He had been sick for the week leading up, and didn’t want to expose a bunch of children to his potential diseases. 

“Will you come in?” Paul asked as Andrew zoomed by, completely naked while holding a towel tightly in a little baby fist, Pam chasing after him. 

“Are you sure?”

“Oh, yeah, Andy’s made out of tough stuff. He hasn’t really been sick yet, thank the Lord.”

“Yeah, I’ve got some time, then.”

He followed Paul into the kitchen and set the pie on the counter. 

“How’s the winter going for you?” he asked, leaning against a counter. 

“Good. Pam’s at work, and I get to stay home and take care of Andy, so no complaints.”

“He’s getting so big.”

“He is! He’s apparently a little delayed with his speech, but he tries every day so our doctor isn’t concerned. But he’s so funny, and happy. That’s all we wanted. And he’s so good at sharing, and being kind to other kids. When we were trying, Pam and I had some trouble, and we prayed every night that the Lord would bless us, and we would love any child that he brought to us. I couldn’t have imagined that Andrew would be so perfect, though.”

Hunter smiled at that, watching as Pam scooped the baby up, and managed to wrap him in the towel at the same time.

“Oh, look, Andy! It’s Uncle Lance!”

She brought Andy over and deposited him into Hunter’s arms before he could protest. Andy grinned at him, a big, toothy smile.

“Look at you, little guy, getting so big!”

“Yeah!” Andy agreed. “Big!”

“So big!” 

“Yeah!”

“I’m going to blow your mind, mate. You’re going to get  _ even _ _ bigger _ .” When Hunter gasped, Andy echoed it. “I know! How strange! You’re not going to believe the stuff you’re going to do with your life! You’re going to see so many strange things, and love so many wonderful people, and one day, you’ll look back and just remember how it was to be so small, and then that is going to seem impossible to you, too.”

Andy babbled back at him, and Hunter listened, catching a couple of words, nodding as if he completely understood. 

“You’re really good with him,” Paul said. “Do you have experience with children?”

“Me? No, not at all. Only child born from only children. No siblings, cousins, nothing. Andy’s the first baby I’ve spent time with.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. My ex would tell you that I connect well because I’m a child myself. Maybe that’s true.”

Paul nodded, and looked at them as Andy continued to tell Hunter about something including apples and Mommy. He had a very intense stare, but Hunter couldn’t look away from his big blue eyes. He looked a lot like Pam, but those eyes were all Paul. 

“So, no siblings, nothing?”

“No, none at all. Mum died when I was young, and my dad was,” he paused and looked at the child in his arms and changed course, “well, unpleasant to be around so he didn’t get remarried after her passing.”

“And Leo?”

“Only child, like me, but I don’t actually know if he has any cousins. I don’t think so. We haven’t really talked that much about our families beyond the shared trauma of  _ unpleasant _ fathers, if you follow me.”

Paul nodded.

“I follow.”

Hunter looked at the baby in his arms, and considered Paul’s questions. It struck him as odd that he didn’t know that much about Fitz’s family. He knew that Fitz loved his mum dearly, and that his dad was a bastard. But he didn’t know what part of Scotland Fitz came from, if all of his family was Scottish, if his grandparents were living still, if he had any aunts or uncles, cousins, close family friends.

This had happened before, history repeating itself. Hunter always fell so hard for someone that he was blind to any details about them. He was so wrapped up in loving Fitz that he forgot about actually knowing Fitz. 

* * *

Hunter loved it in the greenhouse, the methodic way he moved from plant to plant, making sure each was growing well, that they didn’t need to be repotted, that they were getting enough sun, or that they weren’t getting too much. He understood why they were called plant nurseries, the way he found himself babying and caring for them. It was so peaceful there, a quiet reprieve from the rest of the world. Sometimes, even when he had no work to do, all of the plants already tended to, he’d come out to the greenhouse and just listen to the heating whir in the cold, and the lights hum, and everything felt okay.

Unfortunately for Hunter that day, even the greenhouse couldn’t calm his mind. He was tense. He hadn’t slept well, even with Fitz there next to him, perhaps because Fitz was there next to him. In fact, he was a cord twisted around himself so many times he was liable to snap. 

“Fitz, I know you’re there,” Hunter said tiredly. “It’s been awhile, but I am still a trained spy. I know when someone  tries to sneak up on me.”

Fitz’s arms slid around Hunter’s waist and his chin hooked over his shoulder.

“Fitz,” he said softly. 

“What? Can’t surprise my love with lunch?”

“Lunch?”

“Yeah, come on, I made lunch.”

“Lunch?  _ You  _ made lunch?”

“I can cook.”

“It’s been nearly three years here, and you’ve only made lunch a couple of times.”

“No, it’s definitely been more than that.”

“I appreciate the thought, but I have to finish this.”

He had his hands buried in a pot, rehoming a pee plant that had quickly outgrown the pot he’d set it up in. 

“What’s wrong?” Fitz asked.

“Nothing.”

“Your tone says otherwise.”

Hunter sighed, and took his hands out of the soil as Fitz stepped back away from him. 

“I’m just not hungry right now.”

“Oh, now I know there’s something wrong.”

Hunter turned to face him, frowning. 

“I’m fine,” he said, crossing his arms.

There was a sour pit in his stomach, and he didn’t fit in his skin right in the moment. He wanted to thrash, and scream, and break something. It was insecure, and scared, he could tell that immediately, this little nagging feeling that made it hard to look at Fitz. 

“You know you can talk to me if something’s bothering you.”

“Maybe I don’t want to talk about it.”

It came out sharp, barbed, an invitation to fight him and to prove that little voice right. 

Fitz’s eyebrows shot up and his frown deepened. 

“What is with you?”

“I don’t have to be sunshine and rainbows all the time, Fitz,” Hunter snapped. “Sometimes, life sucks, and I get to be angry about it.”

“I never asked you to be sunshine and rainbows.”

“I’ve tried to be a good place for you to land, safe and open, but god, I’m tired, every day. I just need some time by myself, for once.”

“I didn’t ask you to be some kind of martyr hero. You took that role on all by yourself.”

“Oh, yeah, sure, this is my fault.”

Hunter wanted to stop, wanted to make his mouth stop doing this, not to antagonize and try to hurt Fitz. 

“Jesus Christ, Hunter,” Fitz grumbled, “I’m not – I'm not  _ blaming _ you, but I’m also not going to stand here and let you be angry at me for needing you.”

“I’m not angry at you for needing me,” Hunter said, rolling his eyes. “I just need some time alone where I don’t have to.”

“Then fucking ask for it. Don’t assume I can read your mind and know what you need. Fucking talk to me. I get what Bobbi used to complain about.”

“Don’t bring Bob into this.”

“All of the times she called you impulsive, stubborn, and lacking emotional maturity, I thought she might be exaggerating, but she really wasn’t, huh. I don’t know what’s up with you, and maybe you don’t either, but you are a goddamn adult, Hunter, you can use your words and talk to me about whatever the fuck  _ this _ is, instead of picking fights like a child.”

He couldn’t speak, tongue tied up in offense and hurt. He’d started this, but he’d forgotten that Fitz had just a sharp a tongue and didn’t take anything lying down. He’d been through too much, of course, he’d fight back. 

It’s what part of him wanted, at least. 

“Whatever,” Fitz finally said, shaking his head, “I’m  gonna go and let you be alone just like you want. I have to get back to work. There’s lunch in the cabin if you get hungry.”

Then, Fitz turned and left, the greenhouse door shutting forcefully behind him.

Hunter stood in the quiet of the greenhouse, eyes closed, trying to convince himself that he was in the right here, but that look on Fitz’s face – Hunter could admit when he was wrong, despite what Mack and Bobbi and apparently Fitz thought. 

“Let’s ruin all the good things in our life, huh, Lance. That’s a good idea. Can’t sleep without him, so let’s make it so he wants to leave,” he grumbled to himself. “Genius.”

He begrudgingly realized that maybe his father was right, bastard that he was. 

“You’ll never have anything good in your life because you will ruin it,” he’d said one night after a long session at the bar. “You touch something, and it turns to shit, because that’s what you are, who you are, and that’s what you deserve.”

He turned back to his plant, half repotted, and got to work. 

* * *

Dinner was awkward at best, Hunter still lost in his own head, and Fitz clearly stewing over the whole thing. Hunter had made dinner, and left it in the oven to stay warm until Fitz got back home, but he couldn’t make himself speak to apologize. 

He’d never been good at quiet, always talking through silences like they’d offended him or wronged him in some way. But he couldn’t break it.

His father’s voice was still echoing in his head, and he thought he’d handled that, thought he’d worked through it. He knew he wasn’t worthless, that he hadn’t deserved anything his father had done or said. He knew, logically, that his father was the one who had problems, not him.

And yet...

Here he was, again, gripping the sink, trying to work through these insecurities.

“What’s wrong?” Fitz asked after dinner, leaning against the counter beside him while he washed dishes. It was less washing dishes, though, the bubbles slowly disintegrating into the cooling water. “And don’t pick a fight. Tell me what’s actually wrong.”

Hunter sighed and reached for the hand towel, drying his hands. 

“It’s my dad,” he said softly. “Bastard’s never really gone, no matter how much I try.”

“What do you mean?”

“After Mum died, and Dad started going on his benders, he had a particular line of insults he’d use. He was a lot like a broken record, you know, going over the same sound over and over again.” He paused and Fitz’s hand carefully touched his shoulder, just fingertips shy against him. “He would always tell me that anything good in my life, I would fuck up because deep down, I knew I didn’t deserve it. And apparently he was right.”

“No,” Fitz said immediately. “You didn’t fuck anything up.”

“I could’ve.”

“I’m not letting you go because of some attitude problem. We’re stronger than that. Your dad was a piece of shit, and nothing he said was correct or mattered. He can’t break us up, and you certainly can’t either, not like that.”

“Fitz,” he said quietly as if to protest. 

“Lance, your father has never been right about anything in his entire life, especially nothing negative he had to say about you. I know, I’ve spent every day with you for actual years now, and I know you. I know how good you are, and how loving. You don’t ruin things. Look at this, here, this house. Cal. Me. Your greenhouse. The bake sale. The farm. You don’t ruin things.”

“I picked a fight with you,” Hunter said, “when you did something nice. How is that – how is that different?”

“Because you are human, you are stressed about something, and you lash out when you’re stressed. I get it. It’s hard, and you don’t have to be sunshine and rainbows.”

Fitz tugged at Hunter’s arm, pulling him into his arms.

“You haven’t ruined this, and I won’t let you. I will absolutely promise you that. Nothing you could say or do would drive me away.”

Fitz curled his hands in Hunter’s shirt and kissed him.

“We good?” he asked.

“We’re good,” Hunter said. “As long as you forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive, love.”

* * *

“Fitz? Are you awake?” he asked that night, staring up at the darkened bedroom ceiling. 

“I wasn’t,” Fitz said.

“ Mmmmhm , I know you weren’t sleeping.”

“No,  you’re right,  I’m awake. What’s up?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Yeah,” Fitz said softly. “Me too.”

Hunter turned onto his side and looked at Fitz.

“I have some questions.”

“Yeah, go for it. Open book for you.”

“What’s your mum like?”

Fitz laughed, and shifted onto his side to face Hunter back. 

“She’s wonderful. She’s always been supportive of me no matter what I wanted to do. When Dad left, she had to take on another job to pay the bills, so I didn’t see her a lot growing up, but I also left for university and the Academy early. She always made sure she was there at my science fairs, and awards, and graduations, even if it meant having to leave work early and her paycheck being lighter. She made sure I didn’t feel like a burden on her, before and after Dad left. But beyond that, she also is just sunshine. She smiles so much, she has laugh lines, and her laugh is so loud, you can hear it for fucking miles. My mum is sunshine, but like bright summer sun, like high noon in the desert. She’s intense.”

Hunter laughed.

He could just make out the planes of Fitz’s face in the moonlight through the windows. 

“Does she know that you’re queer?”

“She does. She’s actually the first one I came out to, after Simmons, of course.”

“Of course,” Hunter echoed.

“She asked a lot of questions; she was always curious about everything. Whenever I wanted to tell her about a project I was working on, she asked about it until she understood. She was so smart – actually, she  _ is _ smart. I don’t know if I’ll ever see her again, so I keep forgetting that she’s not dead. She’s barely alive right now. She’s a small baby in Scotland somewhere.”

“She sounds great.”

“She really is,” Fitz said. He reached out and took one of Hunter’s hands, lacing their fingers together. “I love her so much, and I miss her. I hadn’t seen her in years before this happened. It’s hard to think I might never see her again.”

Hunter squeezed Fitz’s hand.

“What about your mum?” Fitz asked. “What was she like?”

“She was a big nerd,” he said. “Loving, and articulate, and intelligent. She used to tell me these long heroic stories about superheroes and scientists and scholars. Whatever she’d been reading recently, she’d turn into a bedtime story for me. I didn’t understand half of what she told me, but I loved the way she told stories.”

“You told me she used to tell you about your birthday.”

“Yeah. That was her favorite, telling me how long it took for me to come out even though she didn’t want a Christmas baby.”

“Really?”

“She said she didn’t want that kind of overshadow on my day, but whatever, I demanded it, is what she said.”

Fitz smiled.

“Makes sense for you as a person.”

“Yeah. I get it. I’m impulsive and stubborn and –”

Fitz pressed his fingers against Hunter’s lips.

“I didn’t mean that. You’re not, you’re a good man. I’m sorry for earlier.”

“I know. Me too.”

Fitz shuffled closer and kissed Hunter.

“I hate fighting with you. There’s so much better things we could be doing with our mouths.”

“I have more questions.”

“So many, so curious,” Fitz said teasingly. “Why now?”

“I realized that I don’t know you as well as I should by now. We’ve lived together and spent every day together for years, and I don’t know nearly enough about you. I don’t know about your childhood, or your college years, or even what the Academy was like for you.”

“You know me. Of course, you know me.”

“I don’t even know basic stuff about you. What’s your favorite color? What’s your favorite movie? Who was your first kiss? It’s, god, it’s probably stupid, but it’s been weighing on me recently that I don’t know you the way I should.”

“Is that what your attitude was about earlier? You don’t know my favorite color?”

“I don’t know, maybe.”

“It’s green,” Fitz said. “My favorite movie is The Wizard of Oz. My first kiss was with Taylor Abernathy, on the playground after school. We were 12.”

“The Wizard of Oz?”

“Mum and I used to watch it when I was upset, especially after Dad would yell at me.”

“We’ll have to watch it together. I haven’t seen it.”

“Ever?”

“Nope. Wasn’t my type of thing growing up.”

“It’s a classic!”

“I’m aware, but that doesn’t mean I’ve seen it.”

“I’d be glad to show it to you, then.”

Hunter nodded.

“What else?” Fitz asked.

“What?”

“What else do you want to know? What can I tell you to settle your mind?”

Hunter thought about it for a moment, looking at their conjoined hands in front of him.

“I love you, Leo. I’m sorry I’ve been cranky. I panicked. I should have been honest why I was panicking. I – we've got the rest of our lives to know each other, whether that’s here or in the future, it doesn’t matter.”

“What did you panic about? What set it off?”

“When I took the pie over to Paul's, we were talking, and Paul asked me about how we grew up, about our families , all I could tell him was that our fathers were shitty. But I couldn’t tell him anything about your family beyond that. It didn’t feel substantial enough for a solid relationship . There has to be more than just shared trauma, you know , and I thought about Bobbi and me, and how we rushed together so quickly that we exploded, and I don’t want that to happen to us.”

“It won’t. We didn’t  _ rush into _ anything here, Lance.  We’ve been friends for years, fighting side by side against all kinds of dangers and bag guys.  We slept in the same bed for a year, kissed, and then didn’t touch for another six months. We’re good. There’s a lot of time ahead of us, and anything we missed, we have time to make up for later.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because I told you. I am not letting you go now that I’ve got you. Nothing in this universe is going to drive us apart, not Hydra, not  Chronicoms , not your attitude. Nothing.”

“What’s a bigger threat? Hydra or my attitude?”

“Your attitude,” Fitz said with a cheeky smile. “But luckily, I’ve become something of an expert on you, Lance Hunter.”

“Oh, have you?”

“I have.”

He kissed Hunter then, and pushed him onto his back underneath him. 

“Let me show you what I’ve learned.”

* * *

For Valentine’s Day, Fitz made dinner for him, and burned it. 

“That’s okay,” Hunter said, sliding his arms around Fitz’s waist as he stared at their destroyed dinner. “We can get pizza or something.”

“Sorry, I wanted to do something nice, but,” Fitz said, trailing off. 

Hunter could see his hands shaking in front of them without Fitz having to say anything. As much as the symptoms of his brain injury had faded, he still had bad days, days where words escaped him, where he tripped over his own tongue, where his hands didn’t comply with what he wanted. He had bad days, and he probably always would.

“Or I have an idea,” Hunter replied, kissing his neck. “How about we skip dinner, I take you to the bedroom, and eat you out as slow as you like?”

“Are you trying to distract me from what I did?”

“It’s Valentine’s Day. Whether dinner went perfect or not, we’d be doing this,” he murmured. “I’m just moving the time table up a little bit.”

“I don’t know if I – what if I can’t.”

He stopped and let out a slow breath. 

“I know it’s bad today,” Hunter said, taking Fitz’s tremoring hands in his own. “But I also know that you normally feel better, more stable after an orgasm. So, forget dinner. We’ll find something later, but right now, I want to, what was it you said before, show you colors you’ve never seen, and leave you gasping.”

Fitz leaned back into him, and mumbled, “promises.”

“Promises I intend to keep. Come along, love.”

He started towards the bedroom, and Fitz caught his hand just before he stepped out of range, letting himself be towed along. 

* * *

Hunter loved spring. It was his favorite season. Winter was finally over, the ground was beginning to thaw, and when he stepped outside, he didn’t immediately hate his life. It also meant he was useful on the farm again. He had things to do in the growing season, flowers and vegetables to tend to. Winter was dull and long and he felt directionless, even with his greenhouse keeping the growing season going. 

“Okay, I had an idea,” Ida said, catching him one morning as he carted flowers he’d been cultivating in the greenhouse for the past weeks from the car to the garden in the back. 

“What’s that?”

“Come here.”

She led him around the house to where Hunter’s garden was. Except...

Except his garden, with its neat fence and usual borders had grown overnight, the fencing now encompassing triple the amount of land. 

“Wow,” was all he say.

“I know it’s a lot more, but I thought we could use this third for flowers, this for fruits, and this for the vegetables. If we have a larger growing section, we’ll be able to sell more, and make more money, and, you get the idea. I can have one of the boys help you, or Leo could lend you a hand. I know he’s made you that sprinkler system that way you don’t have to water by hand as much. Maybe he can devise something else to make it easier, but either way, what do you think?”

“I think I’m going to need more plants. I don’t have nearly enough to cover all this space.”

Ida grinned and kissed his cheek.

“Thank you,” she said.

“I could never say no to you.” 

* * *

Triple the work, even with Fitz’s sprinkler, meant that Hunter often got home later than he had since they started working with Ida. He didn’t mind, though. The work was good. The work kept his thoughts in check. It was hard to hate yourself, or listen to your father’s voice chirp about being destructive when you were sowing seeds for new things to grow, nurturing them until they were big, and strong. That’s what Hunter needed, beyond apparently more therapy, but just to have time to realize whatever his father told him, this negated it all. This farm, this home that they’d found for themselves, this little family, this was enough to prove him wrong. 

Cal liked to lay between the rows as Hunter worked, chewing on a bone that Ida had gotten for her.

Fitz would come back every now and again to whistle at Hunter while he worked, a smug grin on his face. 

“I’d kiss you right now if it were acceptable,” Fitz said one afternoon, carrying his toolbox as he leaned against the fence nearest to where Hunter was weeding a plant. “Love me a man who works with his hands.”

The sun warmed the earth, the breeze blew through the budding trees, and at the end of the day, Hunter still got to go home to the love of his life.

* * *

Hunter made the baked goods at home for the Flower Festival that year, which proved to be a problem because Fitz had a tendency to get  handsy when he was baking. He’d be in the middle of mixing up some banana bread batter when Fitz’s hands slid around his waist and up his chest, lips pressing into his neck.

“You smell so good,” Fitz muttered the morning of the third day. Ida always gave Fitz the weekend off to help Hunter since she had, in her words, other things to attend to before the festival. Hunter and Fitz had both teased her if those things were Mayor Hot Pants, but she’d just glared. “I’ve changed my mind.”

“About me smelling good?”

“No, you should open a bakery so you smell like this  _ all the time _ .”

“Are you confusing hunger for horniness right now?”

“I can be both hungry and horny simultaneously,” Fitz corrected. He dragged kisses down Hunter’s neck. 

“I know that’s true,” Hunter agreed, leaning back into him. “I am supposed to get this done, you know, before the Festival tomorrow.”

“Yeah?” Fitz asked, teeth nipping at Hunter’s ear. Hunter could feel the ridge of Fitz’s morning erection against his ass, pressing into him teasingly. “What if you took a break?”

“I just started.”

“Perfect timing, then.”

“Leopold,” Hunter tried to scold, but Fitz’s clever fingers rubbed teasingly at his nipple. Instead, his voice came out breathy and weak, and it took a lot of his self-control not to whine with it. “What are you doing?”

“Misbehaving,” Fitz replied. “As always.”

One hand slipped down into the front of Hunter’s shorts, and without hesitation, wrapped around his cock. 

“ _ Fitz _ ,” he groaned. 

Fitz didn’t reply as he stroked Hunter slowly, leaving soft, chaste kisses along his neck and jaw. It was teasing, tantalizing, his hand solid and warm but dragging slow along his dick. He wasn’t patient enough most of the time for the way Fitz liked to tease him, and Fitz knew this. There were times when he would let Fitz drag out their play, tease him for as long as he pleased, but Hunter decided this wasn’t going to be one of these times. 

“Fitz, if you don’t actually do something, I’m going to jerk myself off and not let you help.”

Fitz huffed out a laugh into his shoulder. 

“You’re so fussy,” he said, pushing Hunter’s pants down just enough so his cock came free, allowing him more space. “So particular about how you get to come.”

“I am not fussy,” he started to protest, but Fitz picked up his pace, his hand sliding up and down Hunter’s length quicker, his strokes still firm and intent. “Oh, fuck, Leo.”

“You are fussy, but that’s okay. Making you moan like that is what I’m here for, so whatever you want.”

There was still a bit of sleep crackling in Fitz’s voice, and an eagerness to head back to bed in how he molded to Hunter’s back.

“Whatever I want, huh?” 

Fitz hummed his agreement. 

“You wouldn’t mind,” he said, pushing the mixing bowl aside and reaching for the oil he’d left on the counter, “fucking me against this counter, then.”

“ Hunter ,”  Fitz groaned. “Are you sure?”

He gestured to the windows, the shades and curtains drawn to let in the early morning light. They’d be en extremely careful, even when they were home alone. They didn’t know if someone could see them, and Hunter didn’t want to get  carted off to jail  because he wanted to get off. He didn’t want  _ Fitz _ to get carted off either.  It was still very illegal to do what they were doing, even in the privacy of their own home. 

There was a reason Hunter hadn’t dragged Fitz into the greenhouse and taken him against the work bench the way he wanted to, even though they lived so far from town and rarely had visitors. 

“I’m sure,” he said.

The sun wasn’t up yet, the birds were just starting to chirp. The only visitor they’d have this early was Ida, and she’d never do anything to hurt them. 

“Good. I really want you this morning, and I don’t want to wait.”

“Wait for the bedroom? Ten feet that way?”

“ Mmmhm ,” Fitz agreed, and tugged down Hunter’s pants more, letting them pool down at his knees. He grabbed the bottle of oil from the counter and kissed Hunter’s neck again, soft and sweet. “I’ll be so glad if we get back and don’t have to use cooking oil. I really miss lube.”

Hunter laughed and leaned back into Fitz eagerly.

“Tired of using Vaseline?”

“I really am. It gets everywhere and it’s impossible to clean off the sheets,” Fitz grumbled. “I miss the industrial washer and dryer in the Lighthouse, too.”

“Last time I was in the Lighthouse, we were trying to get you to the future,” Hunter said conversationally as Fitz’s fingers, slicked with the oil, pressed into Hunter’s entrance easily. “It was terrible.”

“It’s much better now,” Fitz said. “Or it was the last time I was there, you know, before Hydra decided to try and blow us out of the sky and out of time.”

“Mmmm, so rude of them.”

Fitz didn’t take long opening him, his fingers quick and skilled at this by now, masters at their craft.

“I don’t know,” Fitz said, kissing his shoulder, “Hydra trying to kill us landed us here, didn’t it? And I wouldn’t be with you, probably. I like it here.”

“I know,” Hunter said, arching back into Fitz’s fingers, “me too.”

Fitz’s fingers found his prostate, and he whined, high pitched and needy in the back of his throat.

“ Fuck, yeah, I’m good, I’m good, fuck me.”

“Gladly,” Fitz said, removing his fingers with another kiss to the nape of Hunter’s neck. There was a moment as Fitz busied himself with dragging down his own pants and slicking himself with the oil. Hunter looked over his shoulder at Fitz, who grinned at him. “I’ll never get over how beautiful you are. How’d I get so lucky?”

“I was thinking the same thing, love.”

Fitz pressed into him, and Hunter leaned back into him, welcoming it. 

“Fuck,” Fitz muttered, forehead dropping to rest against his shoulder. “Fuck, I forgot how good you feel, Lance.”

“Yeah,” he managed to say, even as Fitz eased himself further inside, the hard length of his cock stretching Hunter open. It didn’t hurt, but it always took Hunter’s breath away. “Should definitely let you fuck me more often.”

Fitz grunted his agreement, his breaths coming harder against Hunter’s back. When he was fully enveloped in Hunter, he hooked his chin over his shoulder, gripping where he could on Hunter’s chest. 

He pulled out and snapped his hips back against Hunter immediately, drawing a stuttered, surprised moan from him. Fitz was good at what he did, smart and intuitive, and no matter what position they were in, Fitz somehow just knew Hunter, knew how to make him feel on fire, how to kiss him and hold him, how to make him lose himself in it. He knew exactly how to move, the pace and angle that left Hunter defenseless, his limbs loose and his body pliant. 

All he could do was moan, one of Fitz’s hands pressed into his chest, the other holding his hips still as Fitz mercilessly fucked into him. He was going to shake apart, break into pieces right there in Fitz’s arms. He’d willingly let it happen, content to fall apart against the love of his life. 

He never really understood that term, “love of your life.” Over the course of his life, he’d loved a lot of people, in different ways, to different degrees. There was never anybody, even Bobbi, that had warranted that title. And then, of course, there was Fitz. Fitz who woke up early and stayed up late just to spend some time with Hunter before they went to work or went to bed. Fitz who built him a greenhouse just to keep him happy, keep him busy when he was going stir crazy. Fitz who indulged him and pampered him in a way no one had before. Fitz broke all known ideas of how to love Hunter. 

“I love you,” he groaned, the only words he could say, beyond gasping out Fitz’s name. 

“I love you,” Fitz echoed, pressing Hunter into the counter further, hand leaving his hip to stroke his aching cock. “God, you’re so perfect, Lance. You’re so good, taking me like this, moaning for me.”

“Leo,” he gasped, Fitz scraping his teeth playfully over the pulse throbbing in his neck. His heartbeat kicked up even faster, and he felt weak all over. “Please.”

“What do you want, Lance? Do you want to come?”

Hunter nodded frantically. 

“Patience, baby,” he muttered.

“No patience,” he replied. “Want it now.”

“Whatever you want,” Fitz echoed, twisting his hand perfectly around the head of Hunter’s dick just as he nipped at his neck. “Better?”

“Getting there,” Hunter said, words lost in the middle of a whimper as Fitz intentionally thrust into his prostate. 

When he came, he did so  gripping onto Fitz, dragging him in closer, barely coherent as he whimpered his name over and over. He’d have to clean up his cum from the cabinets later, but all he could think was how good it felt, sparks lighting up his spine, the warmth of Fitz inside of him, behind him, arms wrapped around him. 

“Holy shit,” he breathed, gripping onto the counter as he came down, currents of pleasure still thrumming through him as Fitz desperately fucked into him. “Need some help, baby?”

Fitz groaned and nodded, pulling out and releasing Hunter where he held him in place. 

Hunter turned and dropped to his knees in front of Fitz, grinning up at him as he took his cock up with one hand, stroking him ever so slowly.

“Now’s not the time to be a tease, Lance,” Fitz warned. Hunter held his hip with the other hand, continuing to stroke him without making any moves to do otherwise. 

“I thought you liked to be a tease.”

“I like to  _ be _ a tease. I don’t want to be teased right now.”

“Oh, my mistake,” Hunter said with a smile he knew Fitz loved. 

“Lance,” he whined as Hunter continued to stoke slowly and gently, using the remaining oil to slick his hand. “Please.”

He eagerly took Fitz’s length in his mouth, letting the heavy weight of him rest against his tongue as he slid down as far as he could. Fitz wasn’t a great swallower, but Hunter had a notoriously bad gag reflex that he had to be careful about. He’d gotten too drunk once and gagged himself of some poor soldier’s dick, and ended up dry heaving at his feet. Hunter was careful, though, with Fitz, never taking more than he could, because Fitz didn’t expect porn star level throat fucking, luckily. Fitz was so easy to make come, and Hunter loved the way he could stroke what length he couldn’t fit in his mouth, giving two sensations simultaneously. He loved the way Fitz reacted, hips never quite still, even as he tried not to buck, stuttering ever so slightly back and forth. 

“Fuck, I’m close,” he managed, hand sliding into Hunter’s hair and gripping, not to guide but to anchor himself. Hunter looked up at Fitz, up the lines of his body, the rumpled sleep shirt, the pillow creases still pressed into his cheek, his wild morning hair. “God, you look so good.”

He pressed his free hand into Hunter’s jaw and swiped his thumb over his lower lip, against the seam where his cock disappeared into Hunter’s mouth. Hunter eagerly sucked the tip of his thumb into his mouth alongside his cock, wrapping his tongue around both. 

“ _ Fuck _ ,” he hissed, and Hunter decided to add just one more sensation to help Fitz over that edge he was flirting with, using his own free hand and massaging at Fitz’s balls slowly. When Fitz came, it was always the most beautiful thing Hunter had seen. He always tipped his head back and went a little limp, even if he was standing, and his mouth dropped open as he spit out the  most  obscene moans, words without ends or beginnings, begs and pleads and prayers. Hunter swallowed his cum greedily and sucked him clean when he was done, sitting back and letting his softening cock go. 

“Jesus Christ, I think you broke me,” Fitz said, sinking down onto his own knees in front of Hunter and rested against him. “Good morning.”

Hunter laughed while he shifted, moving off his knees and onto his bottom so he could pull Fitz into his lap.

“Good morning,” he said, kissing Fitz. “You’re a troublemaker.”

Fitz grinned, satiated and sleepy now, ready for his post-orgasm nap.

“Always, baby.”

* * *

The Flower Festival was a success, as usual. The weather stayed clear, the air just starting to take on the edge of summer warmth, and the baked goods sold quickly.

“What’s your secret?” a little old lady Hunter had seen at every festival but could never remember the name of asked, holding a loaf of banana bread she was in the middle of buying. 

“Yoghurt,” Hunter replied with a wink, taking her money to put in the cash box. “And love, of course.”

She blushed when he winked, and scurried away.

“Don’t flirt with our customers,” Ida scolded from behind him.

“Don’t flirt with the mayor, then.”

Ida dropped the subject, and Hunter went on his day. 

* * *

His roses won first place again, and Ida proudly grinned at him as she stuck the ribbon to his shirt again. 

* * *

“You’re paid in full,” Ida said on Monday morning as Hunter stopped back to hand her back the prize winnings she’d left in their mailbox. 

“I am  not,” he said.

“Sugar, I’ve been keeping track. You have more than paid me back. Just keep the money. Put it towards something nice. Maybe some rings.”

She wiggled her eyebrows at Hunter.

“Ida,” he scolded.

“What? You two are practically married anyway.”

“Practically married is illegal,” he reminded her. “Married-married is definitely illegal. Fitz and I would get drawn and quartered, probably, if we went down to the courthouse to get a marriage certificate.”

She shrugged.

“ Ain’t nobody said it had to be courthouse official, sugar. You can easily just have a ceremony here.”

He rolled his eyes at her. 

“I’m just saying, you could consider it.”

“We haven’t been together that long.”

“Oh, pfft,” she said, blowing a raspberry at him. “You two have been together longer than you think, long enough that a wedding wouldn’t be out of the question.”

He left to tend to the gardens, but her words followed him.

Marriage and he cleared had never been friends, as evidenced by his very tumultuous relationship with Bobbi, their spur of the moment wedding and their explosive divorce. He wasn’t worried about his relationship with Fitz, not as a whole. Even when they fought, they made up and talked it through. But what if marriage changed that? Hunter couldn’t imagine that, being angry at Fitz all the time, having that same bitterness he’d carried for Bobbi for so long directed at Fitz. There wasn’t a world where Hunter wanted Fitz to ever go away, ever wanted to be separate from Fitz. 

He wanted to talk with him about it before he made any decisions, of course. He wasn’t going to buy a ring and spring a proposal on Fitz. No, if he proposed, it would be something that Fitz agreed to, something Fitz expected was in their future. Beyond that, what if Fitz didn’t even really believe in the idea of marriage? He’d made a joke about Hunter taking his name, but jokes were certainly different from commitments like this. 

He distracted himself with the garden, and promised to talk to Fitz later. 

* * *

It was stunningly hard to broach the subject of marriage, even with someone you loved, cared for, and wanted to spend the rest of your life with.

“You’re acting cagey,” Fitz said a couple days later.

Hunter set Cal’s food bowl down and looked at Fitz, leaning over the back of the couch to look at him. 

“What’s going on?”

“Our little loan with Ida is officially paid in full,” he said, gesturing to the envelope of cash he’d set on the dining table until he could figure out what to do with it. It wasn’t a lot, after all it was a community bake sale in the 60s, but it would add up over time from their wages and any other prizes Hunter won for his garden. 

“Does that upset you?”

“No,” Hunter said softly, “no, not at all. It’s something Ida said when she told me, though.”

“What’s that?”

“She suggested we get married.”

“Oh,” Fitz said, one eyebrow quirking up. “Why?”

“That you’d have to ask Ida. She just made a comment about saving up for rings, and that we’d been together long enough.”

“Does she know it’s illegal?”

“I mentioned that.”

Fitz hummed.

“Why’s that making you act weird? Do you not want to marry me someday?”

“Oh, no, not at all,” Hunter said. “No, I thought maybe you wouldn’t want to marry me.”

Fitz narrowed his eyes at Hunter as if trying to put his puzzle piece mind together. 

“That’s insane.”

“It is not!”

“Lance,” Fitz said, hopping over the same of the couch and stepping up to him, “I’ve said before that I want to spend my life with you. I want kids, and a house, and dogs, and you. I always want you. Why would I not want to marry you?”

“I didn’t know how you felt about marriage.”

“I don’t have any particular feelings towards marriage. All of my feelings are for you.”

He wrapped Hunter into a hug that he couldn’t help from melting into.

“Besides,” Fitz said, “you don’t have to buy us rings.”

“I don’t?”

“No,” Fitz kissed the side of his jaw, “I’ll make us some special ones.”

“Do you know how to make rings?”

“No, but I can figure it out.”

Hunter tucked his face into the crook of Fitz’s neck, feeling foolish but happy just the same. 

“We’ll figure this out as we go, Lance. We don’t have to know exactly what we’ll do yet, but I am going to stay right here with you, no matter what.”

* * *

On one of their days off in summer, Hunter packed a lunch in a cooler he’d borrowed from Paul and Pam, tucked a blanket into a bag with their swim trunks, herded Fitz into the car with Cal, and drove them to the lake. It was a pretty well-kept secret, so they were mostly alone when they arrived. Hunter laid out the blanket in a nice sunshine spot, and unhooked Cal’s leash. She stayed right beside them as she always did, laying out on the blanket between them. Hunter desperately wanted to run his fingers over Fitz’s skin, practically porcelain warmed in sunshine. But there were eyes around that wouldn’t take kindly to his affection, and he kept his fingers to himself. 

“Someday,” Hunter said casually, “I’m going to buy us a lake house, far from anyone else, I’m going to lay you out on the beach, and I’m going to do very naughty things to you in public.”

“Behave,” Fitz hissed.

“What? I didn’t do that naughty thing  _ now.” _

_ “ _ You’re being naughty talking about naughty things in public.”

“Cal’s already seen me go down on you, it’s fine.”

“ _ Hunter _ ,” Fitz said. 

“Fine, fine, I’ll behave.”

He laid out in the sun and looked at the shimmering water nearby.

“How do you feel about swimming?” Hunter asked carefully.

“I’m not a big fan, as you’d imagine.”

“What if I’m right there with you?”

Fitz looked at him out of his periphery, an eyebrow raised.

“I can’t hold your hand, but you know I won’t let anything happen to you in that water, and if it’s too much, we’ll turn around and sunbathe and play with Cal and make lunch and go home.”

“Are you sure you want that responsibility?”

Fitz looked out at the water instead of at Hunter, either wary of its presence or scared of Hunter’s answer. 

“I do.”

Hunter looked at the sunlight playing over the planes of Fitz’s face, the way his eyes were mostly iris, big and blue in the sun, the shadows cast by the curve of his lower lip and his eyelashes. He looked, satisfied with his life choices, and Fitz smiled.

“Alright, but only if you promise not to let me out of your sight.”

“Oh, baby,” Hunter said under his breath so just Fitz could hear, “as if that was ever in question.”

Cal dozed on the blanket as Hunter and Fitz headed down to the water. 

“Have you been swimming since the, you know?”

“Since the fall of SHIELD, and Ward dropped me and Simmons into the ocean, and I got brain damage from lack of oxygen?”

“Yeah, that,” Hunter said. 

“No. I’ve pretty much stayed away from large bodies of water.”

“Understandable.”

“I haven’t told anyone, actually,” Fitz said. “We don’t exactly have time for vacations and swimming in our daily lives, so it hasn’t come up. But no one knows that I don’t, I don’t go in water.”

“Showers are okay,” Hunter commented.

“Yeah, they’re fine. The water isn’t around me.”

“Baths?”

“I don’t know, not a big bath fan.”

“You haven’t bathed with me, then. I go all out. Bubbles, scented candles, mood lighting, soft music.”

“If you’re there, I’m in,” Fitz said. 

Hunter grinned and stepped up to the water line. 

“Ooookay,” Fitz said softly. “Okay, we’re doing this.”

The water lapped over Hunter’s toes, and Hunter gestured Fitz towards the water.

“I’m right here. I won’t let it get you.”

“Okay,” Fitz said, stepping up beside Hunter. The water came back towards them, and Hunter watched the cold touch Fitz’s feet, and he let out a steady breath. “Not so bad. I can do this.”

“You can,” Hunter said. 

Hunter let Fitz set the pace, walking slowly into the water. There was a family splashing in the shallows down the beach, a little girl in the cutest bathing suit being swung between her parents, skimming her feet over the water’s surface. Hunter kept his attention on Fitz, though, clocking his breathing and the tension in his shoulders. He’d helped Fitz through a lot of nightmares, holding him as he panicked about threats long since passed, easing that worry that he wasn’t still stuck in the past. 

“You good?”

“Yeah,” Fitz said, voice a touch reedier than Hunter liked. 

“Do you want to go in deeper?”

“Yeah.”

Fitz stepped into the water, and Hunter followed. They waded in to their waists, and Hunter hissed as the cold water touched his balls. 

“Fuck, that’s cold,” he hissed. “How are you?”

“I’m okay. My balls have completely  receded into my body, but I’m okay.” 

“Want to continue wading, or do you want to stay here?”

Fitz smiled at him, and replied, “or we could try going under?”

“Are you sure?”

He nodded.

“Okay, okay, let’s try then.”

They waded a little further so the water was higher on their chests, and Hunter caught his eye.

“Do you want me to hold your hand?” 

“I do, but,” he said, looking around at the family down the beach. 

Hunter held out his hand and smiled. 

“Take my hand, Fitz.”

Fitz rolled his eyes but took his hand. 

“Okay, on three?”

“Okay. One.”

Fitz squeezed his hand, and caught his eye.

“Two.”

Fitz took a deep breath, and then, on three, they both ducked under the surface. Fitz gripped his hand tightly. Hunter peeked his eyes open in the murky water, Fitz’s form visible nearby, still tethered. He didn’t rocket to the surface immediately, so Hunter let him decide. When they did resurface, he didn’t look on the edge of a panic attack. In fact, he was laughing joyously. 

“What do you think?” Hunter asked, fingers still slotted with Fitz.

“That was terrifying,” he said, but was grinning. “But I’m alive. I didn’t die.” 

“You are definitely still alive.”

Fitz let go of his hand and flopped backwards happily, letting himself bob to the surface. Hunter watched, smiling, so incredibly in love with this man. 

“I’m never going in the ocean,” Fitz said. “But I think a lake house would be nice.”

* * *

Joe and Randy had an anniversary get together at the farm, to which Hunter and Fitz were invited. What surprised Hunter, though, as they pulled up to the farm, was Paul’s car and Doc’s car were already there.

“Paul knows?” Hunter asked, looking over at Fitz.

He merely shrugged.

“To be fair, they aren’t exactly subtle about it, are they?”

There had been many times over the past years that Hunter had seen them pressed together behind the barn, or kissing in the cornfield. Maybe it wasn’t about hiding from this little family they’d found on the farm, but just from the world. It was the same thing Fitz and Hunter were doing. 

Hunter chewed on his lip, staring out over the lawn where the celebration was. He could feel Fitz’s eyes on him, and then Fitz leaned over, smoothing Hunter’s lip from between his teeth with his thumb.

“Hey, it’s okay, you know.”

“I know,” Hunter said, “but there’s always that little nugget of doubt that someone isn’t going to be cool, someone is going to turn and hurt us.”

“Yeah, I get that, but no one here is going to hurt us. Not here. This is our safe space.”

Hunter nodded.

“Come on, I think I see hamburgers going on the grill.”

Fitz smiled and replied, “always driven by your stomach.”

The celebration was nondescript in case anyone came by, but Joe and Randy still sat pressed into one another. Hunter’s focus, though, was Paul. Paul was smiling, and happy, and he pat Randy on the shoulder and told him how incredibly lucky he was that Joe hadn’t left him yet. It was familial, and sweet, and Hunter couldn’t process it. 

“Hey,” Paul said at one point between dinner and cake, leaning against the fence where Hunter had found to hold himself up. He brought a beer for Hunter, and took a sip from his own. “You’ve been quiet.”

“I have?” 

“Yeah. Usually you’re in the center of stuff, but you’re out here. What’s going on?”

Hunter shrugged, and used the fence to pop open his beer, catching the cap as it flew off. 

“You don’t have,” Paul trailed off, and looked over to where Joe and Randy were holding hands, laughing at something Doc said. “You don’t have a problem with them, do you?”

Hunter laughed, and took a long drink from his bottle.

“Nah, mate,” he replied. “I was going to ask you the same thing, actually.”

“Me?”

“Yeah,” Hunter said. “Depending on how you feel about Joe and Randy, I have something to tell you myself.”

“Is it about you and Leo?” Paul asked. 

“It is.”

“Then, I already know.”

“You do?”

“Of course, I do. You live in the same house, and go everywhere together. Besides that, I’m not stupid and can see how you look at each other. You love each other, right?”

“Right,” Hunter said.

Paul shrugged.

“It’s none of my business what you get up to, or who you’re in love with. You’re a damn good friend, an incredible baker, and you’re great with my son. You’ve never shown me any kind of deviant behavior, or whatever people’s issues with it is. You’re kind, and good, and a good worker. I don’t have any problems with it.”

Hunter let out a relieved laugh, and clapped Paul on the shoulder playfully.

“Thank you,” he said.

“I wish you’d have told me sooner, but I know it’s not easy to make that decision, because of the not-so-good reactions. But I’m still your friend, Lance. I’m not going anywhere, as long as you continue to be this guy, kind and good and hard-working, and you don’t piss off my wife.”

“I promise. Where is Pam and Andy?”

“Andy had a playdate.”

“Does Pam know about?” he trailed off, nodding towards Joe and Randy.

“She does. She doesn’t understand it, but she isn’t against it. She won’t hurt you guys.”

“Okay,” Hunter said. “That’s all I can ask, actually.”

Paul nudged Hunter with his elbow.

“Don’t fuck it up with Leo, though. From what I’ve seen, that is a good man. Don’t let him go for anything.”

“Trust me, I know. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

They fell silent for a little bit, drinking their beers separate from the party. 

“Hey,” Fitz said, coming up to them. “Ida’s bringing out the cake, if you want to stop being wallflowers.”

“Yes, love,” Hunter said, pushing himself off the fence. Fitz beamed at him, and reached out to grab his hand. “Coming, Paul?”

“On my way.”

Fitz towed him away, and Paul followed, smiling at them as they went. 

* * *

The night before their anniversary, Hunter turned the air conditioning on, and drew them a bath with bubbles and candles and soft music, and pulled Fitz into the bathroom with him. Fitz had been quiet and  melancholy all day, so Hunter wanted to do something for him. 

“So, I promised you a bath a while ago,” he said, drawing Fitz’s shirt up over his head and tossing it into the hamper nearby. “I’m going to pamper the fuck out of you, baby.”

He went for Fitz’s jeans next, unbuttoning them and pushing them off his hips. 

Fitz just hummed his response, and Hunter leaned in to kiss his cheek. 

“I’m going to take such good care of you, you know. For the rest of our lives.”

The corner of Fitz’s mouth quirked up in a smile of recognition. Next went his briefs, leaving Fitz finally naked in front of Hunter. Hunter dragged his fingertips over Fitz’s sides, over his bare skin. 

“Lance,” he muttered. 

“I’m not trying to start anything,” he replied, “I’m just so in love with you, you know, it’s hard to keep my hands to myself.”

Fitz huffed out a laugh and nodded.

“Let me get undressed,” Hunter said, but when he went to unbutton his flannel, Fitz caught his wrists and then took over. 

“Let me,” Fitz said softly, deft fingers unbuttoning each small button with ease. It was apparently a good day for his hands. “You do so much for me every day, you know. Especially today. I know I've been really quiet today, and I'm sorry. It just hit me that I’m never going to see Jemma again, and it aches more than I expected.”

“I know, love.”

“Even without being in love with her,” Fitz said, “it’s like a piece of me is missing when she’s not around. Which is stupid because I’m a whole person, but she’s been there with me through so much, and it’s just that – I miss her.”

He finished the final button and slid his hands, palms against Hunter’s chest, up to his shoulders to push the shirt off. 

“Every day, I want to talk to her, tell her about this life, about you, about Cal, but I can’t. It used to make things real, you know, telling her about them. She was my partner for so long, so much that we were thought to be one person. Fitzsimmons, you know?”

Hunter nodded, as Fitz moved to unbuckle his belt first, pulling it slowly through each belt loop. He was quiet as he unbuttoned Hunter’s pants, and pushed them down Hunter’s hips with his underwear. 

“Come on, love, in the tub.”

He guided Fitz into the tub, and sat down first so Fitz was situated between his legs, the warm water rising to cover them up to their belly buttons. 

“Oh,” Fitz said with a sigh. “That’s actually really nice.”

Hunter hummed and slipped his hands into Fitz’s so their fingers were laced together. Fitz rested back against him, and his head tipped back against Hunter’s collarbone. 

“If I went back in time, and told a younger me that I’d be growing old separate from Simmons, he would laugh in my face. Because it used to be unthinkable that I’d ever lose her. But here I am, living without her every day, and I’m not only surviving, but almost thriving. You and I are ridiculously happy. We have a house. A dog. A future together. But I’m just missing that piece where she’s supposed to be.”

Hunter kissed Fitz’s shoulder.

“Bob feels like that,” Hunter said. “I know Bobbi and I have this rocky past, but she’s still my best friend. And even when we were fighting, or divorced, we still were there together. Especially recently, before this happened, we were getting along, being friends. I could count on her, and her on me, and it felt like we were getting somewhere in our friendship.”

Fitz nodded, and sighed.

“I am happy here, you know,” he said softly. “I don’t want you to think otherwise. I am incredibly happy with you. I just didn’t know missing Simmons would feel like this.”

“You can be both, you know, happy and sad. Of course, you miss Simmons. I’ve never asked, nor will ever ask you not to miss her. If we were together in the future, she’d be a part of you, and a part of our lives. I love Jemma, I know how good she is for you, and how much you love her, and I love you.”

Fitz gripped his hand and tipped his head back further to invite a kiss.

“I love you, too.”

“I hope we get to see her again,” Hunter said, “I hope we get to see everyone again. If not now, maybe someday when we’re ninety years old and married with a whole gaggle of children, and grandchildren. We can tell them all about our lives, about the festivals, and the farming feats, about all the dogs we had, and the love we shared, and the kids named after us. We can tell them about how our nightmares went away, and we could breathe again, and how we never had to fight for our lives, never had to kill someone else again.”

“Yeah,” Fitz said softly, bringing Hunter’s hand up to his mouth for a kiss on his knuckles, “I’d like that.” 


	4. The Cabin, Year Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: Homophobic language   
> Be safe, take care of yourselves

Their third anniversary passed without much fanfare, which is exactly how Hunter wanted it to be. He woke up pressed into Fitz before the sun had risen, and had promptly fallen back asleep, his arms wrapped tightly around Fitz’s waist to keep them close. They didn’t have to touch as often in their sleep to keep their nightmares at bay, but it felt nice to hold him anyway, especially since Fitz had done some serious renovations to their air conditioning and made it so they didn’t die in the summer touching each other. 

“We’re late,” Fitz grumbled, shoving at Hunter’s shoulder to wake him up.

“No,” Hunter replied. 

“We are. The sun is up, the birds are chirping, and we are  _ late _ .”

“We’re not,” Hunter said. “We have the day off.”

“What?”

“Asked Ida yesterday.”

“And you didn’t mention it?”

“Mmm, sorry,” Hunter said, nuzzling into Fitz’s neck. “I turned off the alarm so we could sleep in.”

“I like sleeping in, wish I’d known we were gonna do it so I could enjoy it.”

“We can enjoy it now,” Hunter replied. “Feel that sunshine on your skin? Feel me up against you? We’ve got all the time in the world to enjoy this.”

“Baby,” Fitz said, voice a scratchy morning moan as Hunter lifted his hips just enough to rub against Fitz’s morning erection. 

“Happy anniversary,” Hunter said and grinned into Fitz’s skin.

“What’s the plan for the day?”

“No plan. Just want to lie around with you, maybe eat some food off your chest, hear you whimper as you come. You know, anniversary stuff.”

Cal huffed and nudged Hunter’s leg with her nose. 

“Ahh, after Cal goes outside and eats, I guess.”

“Of course,” Fitz said, and his stomach rumbled.

“And after you get to eat.”

“I’ll eat some breakfast off your stomach. You have to make it, though. I’m too weak from hunger.”

“And because you’d burn it?”

“I can cook, you know,” Fitz protested.

Hunter hummed and kissed his chest as he pushed himself up.

“I love you, and there’s a lot of things you’re good at, but cooking is not one of them. But it’s okay, love, that’s what I’m here for. I’ll take care of you. I can cook, and clean, be a good house husband for you.”

“I don’t want you to be some kept man, you know,” Fitz said. “I want to take care of you back.”

“You do,” Hunter said, running fingertips over Fitz’s chest. “You don’t give yourself enough credit. You take care of me every day. I can make food, and take care of the dog, and water the plants, as long as you’re here when I’m done, and you kiss me like I matter to you.”

“You do.”

“Then, that’s all I ask.”

He kissed Fitz, and stood up off the bed. 

“I’ll take Cal out if you want to start breakfast,” Hunter said. 

“You trust me that far?”

“I trust you to the ends of the universe. And besides, we’ve got plenty of eggs if you fuck up.”

* * *

“Hey,” Ida said, knocking on their door later that day. Fitz was half asleep on Hunter’s chest on the couch watching some reruns of I Love Lucy while Hunter read, the book sitting gently against Fitz’s shoulder. “Everyone decent?”

“Come on in, Ida,” Hunter called, and Fitz moved to at least sit up instead of being sprawled across him. 

“Hello sugars,” Ida said, letting herself into the house and coming to sit on the chair nearby. She was carrying a small rectangular box wrapped in soft blue and white plaid paper, and had on her lovely smile. 

“What do we owe the pleasure?”

“Well, it is your anniversary of joining us at the farm,” she said, “and I had a present I made for you both.”

She held out the box towards them, and Fitz reached out to take it from her. 

“What’s this?”

“It’s not much, but I figure that you don’t have any photos yet.”

Fitz and Hunter exchanged looks as Fitz unwrapped the box, resting it on his lap. Inside, there was a thin photo album. 

“What’s –”

Fitz opened the album and the first page was a photo of Hunter, Ida, and Fitz that Paul had taken their first year on the farm, leaning against the tractor in the fall; they’re all grinning and Hunter is leaning into Fitz, their hands touching the barest amount. 

“Ida,” Fitz said, looking up at her. 

She was grinning, clearly pleased with herself.

Hunter reached out and turned the page. It’s a chronicle of the last three years, two photos on each page. There was one of them at their first Christmas, Fitz and Hunter sitting in front of the Christmas tree with a box each in their lap, not facing the camera as they’re talking to each other. There was one of Hunter holding Andy as a newborn. 

“I forgot how small he was,” Fitz said. 

“He’s such a spitfire now, it’s hard to believe he was little and quiet.”

There was one of Fitz by himself where he’s laughing at his birthday party, the three candles lit in the middle of his cake. Hunter loved that photo. If he still had a cell phone, which had been destroyed in the crash, he’d set that photo as his background. If he was particularly naughty, he might take one of Fitz asleep on his chest, naked after Hunter had fucked him hard in their bed. 

There was one towards the back, the most recent photo so far, of Hunter and Fitz at Joe and Randy’s anniversary party. They were touching openly, Hunter’s hand in Fitz’s, leaning against the porch, looking at each other with big heart eyes expressions. 

“How’d you get these developed?” Hunter asked. They were clearly in love, even to someone who didn’t know them.

“Oh, Randy,” she said. “He has a whole red room thing.”

“Dark room,” Fitz said.

“What?”

“It’s a dark room to develop photographs.”

“Right,” Ida agreed. “I gave him my camera and paid for his time. That way no one who didn’t already know found out.”

“That’s good thinking,” Hunter said. He touched the photograph, and he could see Fitz smiling at him. 

“You’re being sappy,” Fitz said, “I can see it in your eyes.”

“I am,” he agreed. “We’re so lucky to have this, and each other, and her.”

He gestured towards Ida. 

“Yeah,” Fitz said. “We really are.”

“There is one more piece of this present, actually.”

Fitz looked up, but Hunter hadn’t looked away from him yet, too enraptured with his expression.

“Here,” she said, and she lifted a strap from around her neck. She handed them a camera. It wasn’t anything like the cameras they had in their time, but Fitz took it. “To fill up the rest of the album with whatever you want. Randy said you can pass him the roll whenever you’re done and he’ll develop them for you for a tiny fee for materials. He said he knows it’s hard to not have the same kind of experiences as traditional couples. He wants to support your relationship as best as he can.”

“That’s really sweet,” Fitz said. “Thank you for this, and thank Randy for us.”

She grinned.

“I’ll get out of your hair and let you enjoy your day. I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

* * *

For Fitz’s birthday, there was sex, of course, at midnight as Fitz officially turned thirty-six, and morning sex when they woke up, and sleepy  late-night sex after the festivities died down. Fitz had a cake with the same three candles on it that he had for the last four years, which was both a miracle and a concern to what candles were made out of in the 1960s. 

When he blew out the candles, he grinned at Hunter.

Later, when Hunter questioned him about what he wished for, Fitz grinned again and kissed Hunter, whispering, “every wish I make is you, love.”

* * *

“Ida, I have to run to the store,” Hunter said, swinging into the kitchen in the end of September as the fall festival was approaching. “We ran out of flour, sugar, and eggs, and – well, you get the idea. Mind if I duck out early so that I can grab that stuff for dinner? I don’t really want to starve.”

She laughed, washing her hands at the sink. 

“Go for it, sugar. Your work done?”

“Of course,” he said.

“Go on, then.”

He grabbed his keys and wallet from where he left them on the side table by the kitchen door, and headed for the car. He’d be back before Fitz was done, since he was buried in the tractor again. He had practically rebuilt that tractor, and something still managed to break practically every year. 

He loved the drive to town, how quiet and peaceful it was, how  idyllic . It always looked like something out of a movie, picturesque, driving past fields of wheat, and corn shimmering in the breeze. There was something relaxing about it.

Town was quiet for a Tuesday night, a few cars at the diner, a few at the library, and a handful at the store. Hunter was a familiar face now so when he parked, he didn’t worry about anyone calling the police. If the police ever looked into Fitz or him, they’d find no trace of them, and that would be no good. They didn’t have paperwork, or licenses. They didn’t technically exist, here or in Europe. 

He went quick, wanting to get back home, grabbing what he needed as efficiently as he could. As with anything, he preferred Fitz being there with him, even just for company. Fitz was funny, and obviously very intelligent so he knew stuff that Hunter would never think to wonder about. He’d make jokes that left Hunter cackling for hours afterward whenever he thought of it, or he’d point out differences of the 1960s to their own time. 

“Lance,” the cashier, an older man that Hunter knew from the Saturday farmers’ market but had never managed to catch his name said as he stepped up to the register with his basket of items. “How is your day going, young man?”

“It’s good, turns out I did a horrible job doing the shopping last week.”

The cashier laughed. He wasn’t wearing a name tag. 

Hunter would have to ask Ida what his name was because he was starting to feel bad especially because he remembered Hunter’s name.

“My wife used to pin the grocery list to my jacket like I was in elementary school again, but it was effective.”

“I’ll have to try that next time.”

“Sure you got everything this time?”

Hunter set each item on the counter and looked them over.

“Lord, I hope so.”

“Well, we’ll be here if you need to come back,” the cashier said with a friendly smile. He rung Hunter out with an ease and efficiency that came from years and years of work. Hunter wondered how long the cashier had worked there, or if maybe the cashier was not just the cashier but the owner. 

“Thank you,” he said, and took his bag that the cashier held out. “I’ll see you around.”

Outside, there were several cars that hadn’t been outside when he’d gone inside. That wouldn’t normally bother him, people came and went as they pleased, but these were all lined up next to each other, and even more  worryingly , their owners were leaning against the hoods, their arms crossed against their chests. They wouldn’t worry Hunter normally, not much did after years in the army, years killing people and fighting threats that these men couldn’t even fathom. But they outnumbered him, and he’d been soft in the last couple of years, free of fear and having to keep himself on edge. He could fend off one or two, but six... six he wasn’t so sure of. 

He kept his head down, though, and walked past like they didn’t bother him. 

If he faked it, maybe he’d feel it. 

“Where you going, pretty boy?” one of them, clearly the leader, the biggest of the men asked. It sent shivers through Hunter’s spine, but he had at least enough training still coursing through him to keep a straight face. 

“Just trying to get to my car, mate.”

“Where’s your,” he paused intentionally, “friend?”

“I don’t know what you mean, I’m just trying to get to my car.”

“We don’t like your kind around  here; I don’t know how it is over on your side of the world, but ‘round here, we don’t like outsiders.”

“I’ve lived here for three years,” he said, shifting the bag onto his hip, pausing. 

His first mistake was responding.

His second was stopping. 

The man slid off the front of his car and frowned at Hunter.

“People like you, foreigners,  _ deviants _ ,” he hissed, looking over Hunter with a look of disgust. Hunter stayed stony faced, quirking an eyebrow at the man, careful not to show that he was affected. That would only make this worse, make him seem guilty. They had their suspicions but no proof that Hunter was anything except English at this point. Not that men like this needed proof, but he was hoping that if he seemed uninterested and unfazed, they’d let him pass. “You disgust me. You’re going to burn in hell.”

He’d heard that line before, every queer in his school, in his unit, they’d heard that line spat at them. 

It took every ounce of his resolve not to quip back at him, biting down on his tongue. If this were 2019, the man would have a knife pressed to the pulse point in his thick neck, or Hunter could laugh and tell him to fuck off for being a homophobic prick. All Hunter could think, though, as the urge to fight back rose was Fitz, smiling, happy, undisturbed Leopold James Fitz. If he fought back, if he twitched, if he confirmed what they thought they knew about him, Fitz might get hurt in the crossfire.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hunter replied, keeping his tone even and his face uninterested. Blank. 

He was a good actor.

He’d acted straight for so many years. He’d gone undercover. He’d lied, cheated, and betrayed a lot of contacts. He could handle a few goons from the 60s. 

“Sure,” he said, and stepped closer to Hunter, unconvinced. “Consider this your warning,  _ mate _ , that if I ever see you or your little fag friend around this town again, I’m going to let my friends have their fun with you.”

He gestured to his goon squad who had taken up offensive positions nearby.

“Noted,” Hunter said, shifting. He looked over the man’s shoulder and saw the mayor striding towards them. “Hello Mayor Williams.”

There was a freeze in the man’s hand rising up towards Hunter. 

“Lance, good to see you. Making some new friends?”

The mayor stepped up beside Hunter and cocked his head to the side at the man in front of them.

“This young man thought I was lost. Must be the accent. Get that a lot,” Hunter said, looking the man in the eyes. “Thanks for your help, mate. I have to be getting back to the farm now, though. Still plenty of work to do. Stop by sometime, Mayor Williams, if you’ve got time in your busy schedule.”

The mayor smiled at Hunter and clapped him easily on the shoulder.

“I will see what I can do.”

Hunter headed towards the car with a cheery goodbye to the mayor and the man, and set his groceries carefully in the trunk. The man or his friends didn’t follow him as he pulled out of the parking lot, nor when he turned out of town towards the farm. Hunter kept a tight grip on the wheel until he’d passed outside town limits and pulled into a dirt lot near a fishing hole. 

His breath was slipping away from him, and he wasn’t sure how to get it back, coming faster and faster. It could have gone sideways so quickly. He could have been attacked in broad daylight, and left dead in a ditch in the middle of nowhere. There weren't cameras everywhere the way there would be, so no one would know. Fitz would never know why he didn’t come home. Fitz. 

_ Fitz _ . 

He wanted to hear Fitz’s voice so much, just to make sure that he was okay. He wanted to run his hands all over Fitz to know for certain that he was in one piece. It didn’t make sense, because there was no way that that man, whoever he was, with his slicked back hair and tattered leather jacket, had gotten to the farm to hurt Fitz at all, but he had to know.

If it hadn’t been for the mayor...

How could Hunter even think that he could protect Fitz when he wasn’t even enough to protect himself? Someone was going to see Fitz and think him a target, and Hunter wouldn’t be able to stop them.

His breaths were hard, and ragged, and broken. Tears slipped from his eyes against his will, and all he could do was hang onto the wheel and sob. He kept imagining Fitz with Daniel’s injuries, the bruises, the limp, his blue eyes surrounded in dark purple darkness. 

All of his strength, all of his resolve was apparently built on popsicle sticks, fragile enough that one man with his arms crossed was able to bring him down. 

But somewhere between gasps, he felt something snap into place, a decision to keep Fitz safe, to keep Ida and the farm safe. He settled his breathing slowly, and cleaned up his face. There was definitely still a blotchiness to his skin and his eyes were still puffy, but hopefully, he could get home before Fitz did and wash his face of any evidence. He didn’t need Fitz to see him any weaker than he already did, than Hunter already was. 

* * *

“Hey,” Fitz said, stepping back into the house at the end of the day, his shirt damp with sweat where it stuck to his chest, his hair a little wild from dragging his hands through it. “Saw you duck out early today.”

“Had to go to the store,” Hunter said, gesturing to dinner. 

“Told you we were forgetting stuff,” Fitz said playfully, coming up behind him and resting his chin on Hunter’s shoulder. Something  twinged in his chest, this fear that he couldn’t describe, that someone could be watching regardless that they were in their home miles outside of town where the busybodies lurked. He swallowed it down. “Looks good, though.”

“Thanks,” Hunter said, and his voice came out sounding tired.

“You alright?” 

“Just need to get some sleep, I think.”

“Okay,” Fitz said, kissing his shoulder. “Do you want me to finish dinner?”

Hunter forced out a laugh he didn’t mean, and replied, “not a chance.”

* * *

The Fall Festival was that weekend, and Hunter stepped up next to Ida the day before they were going to start baking.

“Hey, can I talk to you?”

“Sure, sugar.”

She pulled her gloves off and gave the cow she’d been milking a kind pat. 

“This is going to sound strange, but I’m not going to the festival this weekend. I’ll still help you bake, and everything I normally do, but I’m not feeling up to the festival.”

“That’s sudden. Did something happen?”

He shrugged, and said, “I haven’t been sleeping well.”

It wasn’t a lie, exactly; he  _ hadn’t _ been sleeping well, in that he hadn’t really been sleeping at all. He feigned sleeping so Fitz wouldn’t worry, but even when he dozed for a few minutes in the early morning hours, he woke up with a racing heart and terrified that someone was coming for them.

He hadn’t felt like this in years, not even when they’d first landed. When Bobbi and he had taken the fall for SHIELD to continue operating, it had felt a little like a target was on his back, but nothing that kept him up at night.  Hypervigilance , he thought, that’s what his therapist had called it right after he’d left the army. 

“Well, if you bake everything up, and get it packed, I don’t see why you can’t have the weekend off to get some rest. Just make sure the plants are taken care of.”

“Thanks, Ida. I’ll make it up to you.”

He wasn’t going to hide out forever, and he was grateful that the Saturday farmer’s market season was ending so at least he and Fitz would be on the farm more often. Less time exposed to town, the better. 

“You just feel better, okay? That’s how you can make it up to me.”

He smiled at her, and headed back to the garden.

* * *

“What’s this about you not going to the festival? You love the festivals,” Fitz said, leaning into the fence behind Hunter. “Ida said you seemed tired, and that you haven’t been sleeping.”

Hunter looked up from where he was harvesting the winter squash, the basket half full by his feet. 

“You’d tell me if  something was wrong, right?”

He said it with such care and love that Hunter wanted to spill everything at his feet, and pray that Fitz wasn’t going to run away.

“I’m just tired, having a bout of insomnia for no reason, I guess,” Hunter said. “I can’t fake nice with people all weekend.”

“Okay,” Fitz said. 

“But that means I’ll be home with you,” he said as an offering. He didn’t want to hurt Fitz, no matter what he was going through. 

“I do like the sound of that. I have to do some work as usual, but I would like to spend a long fall afternoon just sitting on the porch with you, or walking through the sunflowers.”

Hunter smiled, but he could feel how diminished it was. Fitz stepped into the garden, and looked around as he knelt beside Hunter. 

“Hey,” he said, voice soft and gentle, sweet just like Hunter needed. “I’ve asked you this a lot, and I’m sorry, but are you okay? You’re worrying me.”

Hunter wanted to lean in and kiss him right there between the squashes and the pumpkins, in this perfect little nook of the world that they’d found for himself. But the man in the parking lot’s face came to mind, the deep-set lines of his frown, the way his buddies cracked their knuckles like they were aching for a fight.

“I’m okay,” he said, “be right as rain soon.”

“I’ll have to bring out that chamomile Ida had us try,” Fitz said, and he brushed a casual touch across Hunter’s arm. “Maybe that’ll settle whatever’s keeping you awake.”

“Maybe.”

“Or I can think of a couple other ways to wear you out.”

This is where Hunter would normally laugh and nudge playfully at Fitz, ask him what he had in mind, or tell him to behave. He didn’t have it in him. 

When he didn’t, Fitz sighed and squeezed his shoulder comfortingly. 

“We should head out early, then, get you to bed.” 

* * *

Hunter became indignant and insufferable when he didn’t sleep, apparently. He’d never reached this level of exhaustion before to find out, but he was cranky in a way that he didn’t even want to  experience . He didn’t want to be around himself. It was a miracle that after Hunter snapped at Fitz for the millionth time that Fitz didn’t leave, or didn’t kick him out. He’d known Fitz’s temper, and learned its edges, learned where Fitz was sensitive and lashed out. There was always an insecurity behind Fitz’s anger, but Hunter wasn’t sure that he could say the same for himself. 

“Okay, what the fuck,” Fitz said, crossing his arms at Hunter as Hunter cleaning the last dishes from the counter, finally done baking for the weekend. Their home was covered in cooling baked goods, cupcakes and muffins and banana bread covering every surface that Cal couldn’t reach. “What’s going on with you? This is more than just sleep deprivation.”

“I’m fine,” he grumbled.

“You just snapped at me for breathing too loudly, so clearly, you’re not, and I need you to fucking talk to me.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“So, there is something to talk about.” 

Hunter decided not to answer.

“Okay, fine, let’s see if I can work out what’s wrong, because that’s gone great in the past. You’ve been tired, but can’t sleep. Your nightmares have started back up – yeah, Hunter, I know about those. You’re a great liar, but not so good that you can hide from me. You’ve been whimpering and crying out when you do get to sleep, so you’re scared of something. It started right after you went to the store, you were tired and quiet when I got home. Did something happen at the store?”

Hunter didn’t answer, too afraid to open his mouth.

“I’ll take that irritated silence as a yes, then.” Fitz paused to look over Hunter. “Did someone hurt you?”

He shook his head.

“Lance, just tell me,” Fitz begged. “Please. Whatever happened, I want to help you.”

Hunter set the dish down he was putting away and sagged against the counter. He knew the moment Fitz asked, he’d break.

“There were some guys,” he said with a sigh. “I went to town to pick up the rest of the groceries. They were waiting for me outside of the store to threaten me when I came out. They know, or they have very strong suspicions that I’m queer, and they said that if they ever saw us in town, they’d beat the shit out of us. Well, not in so many words, but they certainly heavily implied it.”

“Lance,” Fitz breathed, and he was pulling Hunter into his arms before Hunter could protest. It didn’t matter, he wasn’t going to protest. “God, you should have told me.”

“I was ashamed,” Hunter muttered into his shoulder, curling his hands in the back of Fitz’s shirt. 

“You have no reason to be ashamed.”

“If the mayor hadn’t stepped in, I could have fucking died, to some nobody losers in the middle of Iowa.”

“But the mayor did step in, and you made it home to me. That’s what matters.”

“I could have died, and you, god, Fitz, they could have come after you, too. I couldn’t – I couldn’t live if anything happened to you.”

“That’s what this is about? You’re scared for me?” Fitz asked, stepping back. Not out of reach, his hands still touching Hunter, but far enough that he could look at Hunter’s face.

“I’m always scared for you, but it became real. All of my fears were real in that moment. I was faced with specifically losing you, of seeing you in a hospital bed.”

“Like Daniel.”

“Like Daniel,” Hunter echoed. “And I already lost you once, Leo, when I wasn’t even there.”

“Yeah,” Fitz said. “I know.”

“I hate that you died without knowing, and I know I have you, here, real and alive, but if no one had thought about you in that pod, I wouldn’t have you at all.”

Fitz said softly, “we can’t count on all the things that didn’t happen. It’s too big to think of. If SHIELD hadn’t fallen, if Ward hadn’t betrayed us, if Jemma hadn’t turned me down, everything would be different, we wouldn’t have met, and we wouldn’t be here now. Of all the terrible shit that’s happened, I got to meet and fall in love with you.”

He tipped his head forward to touch Hunter’s forehead gently and continued, “but I need you to know that I can take care of myself. If some Iowa backwater bastards think they’re going to be the thing that kills me for real, right after I got you in my bed finally, they’ve got another thing coming. I’ve survived things that they won’t even dream about for thirty years. I’ve been to space. I’ve travelled through time. I’m not a kid, and I will not end up like Daniel. I’m not letting anything break us apart. Okay?”

Hunter nodded. 

“Wait here, okay?” Fitz said suddenly.

“What?”

Fitz kissed him, pressing him into the counter. 

“Wait here,” he repeated into Hunter’s mouth, and then he was gone. Hunter touched his lips, confused, staring after Fitz as he disappeared out the back door. He waited, trying to formulate some kind of response to this whole thing. 

That fear, it would stay with him, he was sure. Fitz was absolutely right. He could handle himself just as well as Hunter could, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t worry about Fitz coming home safe. He’d worried endlessly about Bobbi, and Bobbi herself was a walking weapon, more than Fitz or Hunter ever could be. He’d always worry, at least some part of him always would, no matter how capable and skilled Fitz was. But he trusted Fitz more than anything, so he could trust Fitz with his own safety. 

Fitz came back through the back door, and grinned at him.

“Right where I left you,” Fitz said like a praise.

“I can do what I’m told,” Hunter responded. 

He walked to Hunter and kissed him again, softer and sweeter. 

“I had a point I was going to make,” Fitz said. “But I forgot it as soon as I walked in here, because you’re so beautiful, and I just wanted to kiss you. I don’t ever want to stop, Lance. I want to be here every day, and I want you to come home to me so I can make sure you’re safe, too. This is a two-way street. I look after you, you look after me. So, Lance, will you marry me?”

Hunter hadn’t expected that, and he felt his mouth drop open in surprise. 

“What?” he heard himself say.

“I want to marry you. I want to have kids, and dogs, and a plant nursery together, or a bakery. I don’t give a shit about what those guys in town have to say. I want to marry you. I want to put that hyphen-Fitz on your last name so people know that you’re mine. But more importantly, I want you to know that you’re mine, and I’m not going anywhere. And I don’t know how this will go, if you and I wait until we get back to our own time, or if we have just a little ceremony here with Ida and the farm hands, or – it doesn’t matter. I just, I want to marry you, Lance, regardless of what is happening outside of these walls.”

“Are you sure?” was all Hunter could manage. All of him was screaming yes, he wanted to marry Fitz, yes, yes, yes. All of him, except one tiny part of doubt stronger than the rest of him, this tiny doubt that Fitz would ever really want to marry him. He’d already fucked up one marriage. 

“Yes,” Fitz replied without hesitation, though. “Of course, I’m sure. Look. Hold on.”

He dipped into his pocket and pulled out two rings. 

“I’ve been trying to get  these right since the Flower Festival,” he said, “and I’m not a jeweler so they’re a little rough. I can spend the rest of my life getting them right. So, what  d’you say, love? Will you marry me? Take my name, prove the world wrong about us?”

“Yes,” he finally managed. 

“Yes?” Fitz asked.

“I want to marry you, too.”

Fitz grinned and took his hand to slide the ring onto his finger. It had been a while since he’d worn his wedding ring, but this one felt different immediately. He would  _ never _ tell Bobbi that, ever. But Fitz’s ring was smooth, and cool, and fit perfectly, and looked like it belonged. 

“I can’t believe you made me a ring.”

Fitz showed him a matching band, slimmer for Fitz’s hand, which Hunter snatched immediately. 

“Technically, I made two.”

“Come here,” he said, dragging Fitz in to ease the ring onto his own left ring finger. He  marveled at the rings, smooth dark metal with a single silver band running through the center. 

“I tried to make them unique, something traditional with something modern,” he said, shrugging. 

“I love them, Leo. You did perfect.”

Fitz grinned.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” Hunter said, and pressed his lips to Fitz’s. Fitz grabbed the front of his shirt and dragged him in closer so they were pressed flush against each other. “Why do you want to marry me? I’m an absolute disaster.”

“Yeah,” Fitz agreed, hooking his fingers into the belt loops of Hunter’s jeans, “but I like that about you. You’re mine, disaster or no.”

Hunter laughed, resting his forehead against Fitz’s.

“All yours,” he agreed. 

* * *

At the farm that afternoon as Hunter and Fitz unloaded the baked goods into the boxes that Paul and Ida would take to the festival, Ida grabbed Fitz’s hand and yanked him into her. 

“What is this?” she gasped.

“It’s my hand,” Fitz said, trying to extract his hand from hers. “Can I have it back?”

“Clearly, I am not talking about your  _ hand _ , Leopold.”

Hunter  oooohed from where he was setting a box of carefully stacked pies into the back of the truck.

“You just got  Leopolded ,” he called.

“Lance has one too,” Fitz grumbled.

“Leopold!” Hunter replied as Ida reached out and snatched his hand too.

“Were  y’all going to tell me about this?” 

“Eventually,” Hunter said.

They hadn’t really talked about telling anyone, too wrapped up in enjoying it themselves. 

“Eventually. Give the boys a place to live and jobs, and they forget where they came from, talking about  _ eventually _ ,” she muttered under her breath. “Well, tell me all about it. Who proposed?”

“That would be me, actually,” Fitz said, finally managing to slip his hand out of her grasp since her attention was on Hunter’s. Hunter kept his hand in hers as she inspected it.

“I’ve never seen a ring like this.”

“Leo made it, actually,” Hunter said proudly, and Fitz grinned at him as he went to fetch another box. “Made us matching ones, because he’s a  _ romantic _ .”

“They’re gorgeous, Leo.”

“Thank you,” Fitz said, blushing. 

“So, tell me exactly how he proposed,” Ida said. 

Hunter told her, excepting the men in the parking lot, and she grinned the entire time, cooing at all the right moments. 

“So, what are you thinking for a wedding?” she asked after he finished. 

“We haven’t gotten that far yet, but we’d certainly welcome any kind of input or opinion. My last marriage, it was rather sudden, so neither Fitz nor I have any event planning expertise.”

“Oh, I would be honored to help.”

He could see the plans already start formulating in her head.

“Well, first of all, I’m thinking a spring ceremony.”

* * *

“What do you want for your birthday this year? Besides the obvious.”

“What’s the obvious?”

“Sex.”

“True. I would like sex.”

“What else?”

“I  don't know , surprise me.”

“I’ve  _ been  _ surprising you every year. You even get two birthdays some years.”

“I’ll share my fake birthday with you if you’re jealous.”

“That was not the point.”

“What’s the point, then?”

“What do you want for your birthday?”

“Mmmm, I don’t know. I like whatever you give me.”

“Lance.”

“I already have everything I want, right here. Unless you’re going to build me a time drive for my birthday so I can take you back to 2019 where I can marry you legally.”

“God, if only.”

“Could you upgrade the heater in the greenhouse? It keeps overheating and killing some of my plants.”

“That is a reasonable request; I’m impressed.”

“I have good ideas some time.”

“I know. I know, baby.”

* * *

On Hunter’s birthday after a breakfast that Fitz did not destroy, Fitz caught his hand and dragged him out to the greenhouse. 

“What’s happening?” 

“I updated the heating system as you requested, so I thought I’d demonstrate that for you.”

He closed and locked the door behind them.

“Fitz?”

Fitz turned and grinned at him. 

“Take off your clothes, Hunter.”

“What?”

“Take off your clothes. I don’t think you need specific instructions on how. You’re very good at stripping as you’ve proven time and again.”

Hunter squinted at him, but pulled his jacket off just the same. He left it on the side table and kept his eyes locked with Fitz, biting his lip slowly. 

“Is this what you wanted? Because this seems like a present for you.”

“Oh, trust me, your present is coming.”

Hunter hooked his fingers into the hem of his shirt and tugged it up slowly. Then, he pulled it up over his head. It was then that Fitz stepped into his space, and he knew he was there without seeing him, his sense of Fitz sharpened over the years. Fitz traced his fingers over Hunter’s skin, down his chest and stomach now exposed, and then his mouth was pressing wet, lingering kisses where his fingers had been.

“Fitz,” he groaned, finally freeing himself from the tangle of his shirt and tossing that onto the table with his jacket. Fitz had sunk to his knees in front of him.

“Shoes and pants next,” Fitz requested. 

Hunter could follow orders, and toed off his shoes first, leaving his socks behind. Fitz hooked his fingers into the band around his ankles and dragged those off too.

“Where are we going with this?”

“Clearly, you’re getting naked,” Fitz answered. Hunter rolled his eyes but unbuttoned his jeans and pushed those off his hips. Fitz helped him step out of them and tossed them away towards his socks. He hadn’t put on boxers that morning, since he suspected Fitz was just going to undress him at some point anyway. He hadn’t expected it to be in the greenhouse, but with the way Fitz kept leaving lazy kisses across his abdomen, he couldn’t complain. 

He curled his hands around Hunter’s hips, and Hunter delighted, as he always did, in feeling the cool metal of Fitz’s engagement ring against his skin. Fitz looked up at him, grinning right before he dragged his tongue over Hunter’s hipbone, drawing a quiet whimper from Hunter. 

“Fuck, Leo,” he groaned.

“Patience, love.”

He stood up slowly, kissing up his chest to his mouth, pressing Hunter back into the table behind him. Hunter closed his eyes and sank into the sensations, enjoying as Fitz kissed over his neck and collarbones to his shoulder. 

“You’re such a good boy for me, you know. I love how still you’re being.”

The whimper that came out of Hunter’s mouth wasn’t intentional, nor was it even human. 

“Does this feel good?” Fitz asked, his thumbs rubbing circles into Hunter’s hips still. What was really driving Hunter crazy was Fitz’s clothes rubbing up against Hunter’s bare skin, the burn of denim as Hunter pressed into him. His cock, untouched, was half hard against Fitz just from Fitz kissing him. “Talk to me. You’re so good at talking.”

Hunter went to speak, but Fitz pressed him back harder into the table, the friction of his jeans against his cock, and all his words turned into vowels.

“That’s good. God, you sound so sexy, Lance.”

Fitz kissed him quiet.

“Can you do something for me, baby?” Hunter nodded. “Put your hands on the table, and hold on. Don’t let go.”

“Okay.”

Hunter held the table edge as instructed, and breathed as Fitz leaned in to bite lightly at Hunter’s neck. 

“Good boy.”

“I can behave,” he replied. 

“Not in my experience.”

Hunter rolled his eyes, and Fitz took his hand away from Hunter’s hips to take hold on his chin.

“ Misbehave and you get  punished. Understood? ”

He nodded, even though he wanted to ask if Fitz would punish him on his birthday, on Christmas, even though he kind of wanted to find out what the punishment would be. Knowing Fitz, it would be some kind of delayed orgasm, maybe edging him until he begged. 

Fitz stepped back and pushed the jacket off his own shoulders, letting it drop to the ground. 

“Do you know what I want to do to you? You standing right where I put you, naked and hard for me.” Hunter expected him to take his shirt off next, but instead, he unbuttoned his jeans and palmed his own erection through the cloth while looking Hunter over. “I want to get you so hard you’re weeping, begging me to touch you. I want to hear you whine, and whimper without me ever having touched you. I want to lean you against that table, and fuck you against it, your legs wrapped around my waist, helpless to do anything except take me like the good boy you are. I want to drive you insane with my cock inside of you.”

Hunter wanted to rub up against Fitz, feel his warmth and the roughness of his clothing, but he stayed where he was told to, watching as Fitz pleasured himself through his pants. 

“How’s that sound?”

“Good,” Hunter managed, voice whimpering. 

“Yeah? You want that?”

“Yes, please.”

Fitz’s smile took on a wicked edge, and he stepped closer to Hunter, hand falling away from his own cock.

“Baby,” Fitz said, low, his accent lilting the word and curled heat in Hunter’s belly. “Your hands.”

He hadn’t realized he’d let go of the table, his hands reaching towards Fitz of their own accord, wanting him closer, and immediately brought his hands back to the edge.

“Sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Fitz said, stepping into Hunter’s space, letting his jeans rub against Hunter’s aching cock just the tiniest bit. “You won’t do it again, right?”

Hunter nodded.

“Promise?”

Fitz brushed his lips over Hunter’s cheek, and then his jaw.

“I promise,” Hunter rasped out.

Fitz tracked kisses down his neck, tortuously slow. He drew patterns down Hunter’s chest, just as slow and light, just fingertips against his skin. 

“God, I love looking at you. Look how absolutely gorgeous you are. You are stunning, every last inch of you. I’m so lucky to get to touch you, and love you, and show you just how much you mean to me. I could spend lifetimes making love to you, and it still wouldn’t be enough.”

“Insatiable,” Hunter muttered.

Fitz grinned. 

“Can’t help it that you’re  irresistible , huh.”

Hunter smiled back, and Fitz kissed him. 

“I love you,” Fitz muttered into the kiss. “I love you so much.”

“I love you.”

He took Hunter’s hips in his hands, and rutted against him. Each roll of his hips against Hunter drove him a little deeper against the table, his cock aching. 

“Fitz,” he managed. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please touch me.”

“Touch you? Like this?”

He dragged nails into Hunter’s hips and then slipped his hands around to grab Hunter’s ass and squeezed.

“Is this what you wanted?”

“You know what I want,” Hunter moaned. 

“Tell me. Use that beautiful voice.”

“I want you to stroke my goddamn dick, Leopold.”

“Like this,” Fitz asked, wrapping his hand around the base of his dick and stroked him a few times but just as quickly took his hand away. “We’ll get there.” 

“Leo,” Hunter groaned. “Love, please.”

“Patience.”

“I knew you were going to  say that.”

Fitz laughed and kissed him.

“Do you trust me to take care of you?”

“Always.”

“Then trust me.”

Hunter did implicitly, and let Fitz step between his legs. 

“Lean backwards, baby, weight against the table.”

“Okay.”

Hunter pushed himself up onto the table but kept his hands on the table as instructed even though he wanted to grab onto Fitz for some stability. He’d fucked people in this position before, but he hadn’t even been fucked in this position before. It was interesting, and he’d probably only let Fitz do this. He’d let Fitz do anything, if he were honest. 

“Good boy, holding still,” Fitz said, shifting Hunter into the position he wanted him in. “God, you’re breathtaking. Look at you.”

Hunter whimpered, and struggled to keep his hips still. It would be so easy to just lean into Fitz and let himself rub up against him. 

“Please tell me you brought some kind of lube-substitute with you, and don’t have to leave me out here to go back and grab it.”

“I came prepared,” he said, taking out the small pot of Vaseline they kept in the side table out of his pants pocket. “Did you doubt me?”

“Never.”

“Unless you want me to leave you here to wait, untouched, aching and alone.”

“I certainly never said that.”

Fitz kissed just under his jaw where his beard ended and the soft skin started. He dragged fingertips down Hunter’s thighs, and wrapped his hands under his knees, teasing the flesh there to send shivers through Hunter.

“I love touching you. I love the way your skin feels underneath my fingers, warm and smooth. I love how you react. The noises you make. The noises you try to hide. The way you lean into my touch. The way you want to pretend you’re not loving it .”

“Leo,” Hunter whispered, leaning just his torso forward to kiss him first even if that was against the rules. Fitz didn’t scold him, licking into Hunter’s mouth greedily. 

Fitz’s hands disappeared from Hunter’s legs but Hunter was too busy loving the slide of their tongues together and the tiny noise Fitz made as they kissed. Then Fitz leaned him back and pressed slicked fingers into Hunter without warning. He tried not to make a noise, but it slipped from him into Fitz’s mouth. It wasn’t quite a moan, but he felt heat creeping through him at his weakness already. He loved the way that Fitz’s fingers felt, and he wasn’t ashamed of it, but he wasn’t usually this  weak to them already. 

“Don’t worry, I won’t take long. I want to get inside of you.”

“Are you going to take your clothes off at some point?”

“No,” Fitz said. 

“What a tease.”

Fitz grinned and kissed his neck. 

“I’ll let you undress me tonight after dinner, that’s your second part of your present.”

“What?”

“I’m going to let you do whatever you want to me, however fast or slow, whatever position, however long. If you want, of course.”

He whimpered and nodded. Fitz stretched his fingers, and pressed Hunter open around them. He was quick and efficient, but still managed to take his time, driving Hunter insane, fingers stopping just shy of his prostate. Then, just as Hunter was getting impatient, Fitz  thrust his fingers right into it and Hunter arched into him, but kept his hands on the table as instructed. 

“I’m good, Fitz,” Hunter managed, trying not to sound as desperate as he was. “Please, fuck me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Given the amount of times we’ve done this, I can reasonably say that you could spend a minute fingering me and I’d be good to go at this point,” Hunter said. “Not that I don’t enjoy this.”

Fitz kissed his collarbone as he pulled out his fingers.

“Come here, scoot forward.”

Hunter shifted into position, watching Fitz push down the front of his pants just enough to pull out his cock and then use the rest of the Vaseline from his fingers on his cock slowly. Hunter’s own cock ached, wanting to be touched, in sympathy. He kept his hands on the table consciously even though he wanted desperately to touch himself, touch Fitz, literally touch anything that wasn’t the fucking table. 

“Is it too cold in here?” Fitz asked, using his clean hand to play with one of Hunter’s nipples, hard and peaked. “I can turn the heat up.”

“No, it’s perfect.”

Fitz smiled at him, blue eyes twinkling in the winter sunshine streaming through the transparent roofing. Hunter would learn how to paint next just to capture Fitz’s absolute beauty for the world to see. Maybe that would be a way to get a hold of the team because clearly the letter hadn’t worked. Maybe he could paint a portrait of Leopold Fitz and send it to the Lighthouse with a note. That would be harder to lose. Maybe he could paint a portrait of them together and they could honeymoon to the Lighthouse to hang it up together with a note on when to pick them up.

“What are you thinking about?” Fitz asked, kissing his jaw. “I can see your thoughts going.”

“You, and sending a nude portrait of you to the Lighthouse.”

Fitz laughed, nuzzling his neck.

“Are you going to learn how to paint or something?”

“I’ve got enough  time; I can do that.”

“I’ll get you a set of paints, then.”

“You support all of my endeavors.”

“I’m a good boyfriend.”

“Excuse you, sir, you’re my  fiancé now.”

“You’re absolutely right. I’m a good  _ fiancé _ .”

“You are.”

Fitz held Hunter’s hip in one hand and his cock in the other as he pressed into Hunter. Hunter sighed into his mouth as Fitz leaned in to distract him with a kiss. He didn’t need to be distracted, but god, he loved the way Fitz kissed him. 

He sank into him easily, stretching him open, until Fitz bottomed out and gasped into Hunter’s mouth.

“I’ll never get used to that feeling,” Fitz muttered. “You feel so good, Lance.” 

“You can fuck me whenever you want.”

“I’ll take you up on that,” Fitz said, looking down at where he was buried inside Hunter. He whispered, “Jesus.”

“Come on, baby, fuck me.”

Fitz curled his hands into Hunter’s hips, and held him close as he fucked into Hunter with long and slow strokes. 

“Fuck,” Hunter groaned, gripping the table tighter so he didn’t reach for Fitz’s shirt to at least push the fabric up and get his  hands on Fitz somehow. Not getting to see Fitz, no matter how many times he’d undressed Fitz or seen him naked, was the real travesty, and he absolutely would be taking advantage of the second half of his present. “Keep at this pace and someone’s definitely going to find us.”

“It’s Christmas, baby,” Fitz said and kissed his collarbone. “No one is out for a morning drive to see what we’re doing.”

“Are you clairvoyant now?” Hunter asked.

“Are you purposefully being difficult?” 

“Always.”

Fitz nipped his collarbone. 

“I do love you,” Fitz said into his skin. 

“I love you,” Hunter replied. “I really wish I could touch you right now.”

“Keep your hands there.”

“I am but it’s hard.”

“You are, aren’t you?” Fitz joked.

“Fuck off,” Hunter groaned. 

Fitz kissed him and thrust into him hard and fast, and Hunter couldn’t stop himself from bowing into Fitz. 

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Hunter whimpered. “Please, Leo.”

“What, Lance?”

“Harder,” was all he muttered. 

“What was that?”

Fitz pinched his hip when he didn’t respond immediately. 

“Tell me.”

“Fuck me  _ harder _ , Leopold,” Hunter insisted. “Please, baby.”

“Are you sure?”

“God, of course, I’m  _ sure.  _ Why would I not be sure?”

“Always need to check. It is your birthday.”

Hunter whined and Fitz attacked his neck in kisses just as he thrust into Hunter, lighting up Hunter’s nerves and sending sparks up his spine.

“Fuck yes,” he whimpered. 

He couldn’t control his mouth on a good day, but with Fitz thrusting into him, he had no chance to keep quiet. Immediately, he could not tell you what profane nonsense came out of his mouth, but it was filthy and begging. He wanted to dig his fingers into Fitz’s back, clawing at him to pull him close, and having to keep his hands on the table was driving him crazy. Fitz not touching his cock which bounced untouched between them with each thrust into him. 

His favorite sound to make as he moaned was Fitz’s name.

Fitz hitched Hunter’s leg up higher to change the angle and Hunter cried out with the next thrust into him, Fitz hitting his prostate dead on. He gripped the table so hard that he swore he could hear the creak of the metal if it weren’t for the pounding of his heartbeat and the obscene, almost porn star noises coming out his own mouth. 

“God, you’re so hot,” Fitz groaned. “Look at you. Fuck, you’re so gorgeous. Do you want me to touch you?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah?”

“Please, Leo.”

Fitz wrapped his hand around Hunter’s cock and Hunter gasped.

“ _ Leo _ ,” he cried. 

“You’re such a good boy, Lance,” Fitz said, voice deeper and huskier than Hunter had ever heard it. “You can come whenever you want.”

He stroked Hunter’s length in time with his own hips, passing his thumb over the sensitive head. 

“God, I’m so close,” Hunter gasped out. “So close, baby.”

“Come on, love,” Fitz said, kissing him. “Come for me. Come on me.”

“Really?” 

“I want you to come on me. Mark me as yours.”

Fitz used his free hand to hike up his shirt, drawing Hunter’s eyes down to his exposed skin. He desperately wanted to touch Fitz, drag his fingertips over his stomach, drawing and tracing patterns, but he could behave. He could, he just had to convince himself of that. 

“Baby,” Fitz said quietly, and somehow, that soft pet name curled from his tongue, kicked Hunter’s orgasm into gear. Hunter fell into Fitz to kiss him, hands anchoring him in place even as he threatened to tip off the table entirely. He could’ve broken into a million pieces right there and he wouldn’t have cared, all he wanted was Fitz’s cock inside of him, their mouths connected, and this moment to never stop. The entire world could end. Hydra could show up outside of their door. The Zephyr could land right in their driveway. It didn’t matter, nothing mattered, except for Fitz and him and this god forsaken table he was holding onto. 

Fitz followed soon after, gripping Hunter’s neck and hip as he came inside of him, the moans of ecstasy trilling through Hunter. They kissed as Fitz came down, as Hunter did, as Fitz pulled out, easy, slow, unhurried kisses. The kind of kisses that Hunter longed for every day. Languid, confident kisses. The kind where they weren’t afraid of who might see them, unafraid, unashamed, undeterred.

“You did so good following directions,” Fitz said, stroking a thumb over Hunter’s jaw and then dropping his hands down to his own. “Let go.”

Hunter hadn’t realized he was still clutching the table, knuckles white from the effort not to touch Fitz. Fitz uncurled one hand from the table, and then the other, and brought his hands up one after the other to kiss his knuckles. He brushed his thumb over the metal of Hunter’s engagement ring.

“Good birthday present?” he asked, quiet and unsure. 

God, every god, he loved Leo Fitz.

“That was a bloody brilliant birthday present, love,” he said, grinning. “I made a bit of a mess of you.”

Fitz looked down to where Hunter’s cum was drying against his stomach and a few lines across his shirt. 

“That’s alright,” Fitz said. “I needed a shower before we head for dinner with Ida anyway.”

“Fancy some company?”

“I do, actually. But how could I deny you on your birthday?”

* * *

They had Paul, Pam, Randy, and Joe over to their home for a small New  Year's Eve party. They drank and danced and laughed together. When the clock switched to midnight, since apparently the ball dropping wasn’t aired yet, Fitz caught him by the waist and dragged him in for a kiss. 

“You know, in Scotland, it’s tradition to kiss everyone in the room,” Fitz said, curling his fingers through Hunter’s belt loops. 

“Good thing we’re not in Scotland, then,” Hunter replied.

“Someday, I’m taking you back to Scotland and you’re sitting through our traditions, as many as necessary until you appreciate Scotland for what it is.”

“A land of nonsense.”

“Without Scotland, there’d be no me, so you better start respecting it, mister. You’re going to marry into Scotland, you know, and have little Scottish babies.”

“ _ Half  _ Scottish,” Hunter corrected. “They’ll also be half English. Think you could stomach that?”

“Well, England did manage to produce one good thing.”

“Jemma Simmons?” Hunter teased.

“Oh, shit, two good things. I meant you, but yeah, Jemma too.”

“I won’t tell Simmons you forgot about her.”

“I’m sure she’ll understand.”

* * *

Hunter really hated winter, especially when their heater broke and he was huddled over the oven while he made dinner. Fitz was buried in their furnace, grumbling and hissing to himself. 

“Motherfucker,” Fitz cursed, and there was a clatter. 

“You alright?” Hunter asked, leaning back to see Fitz kicking the furnace in the closet at the back of the house.

“This thing is so fucking old that there’s no fixing it, not without basically rebuilding it.”

“Would it be easier to replace it new?”

“Probably,” Fitz groaned. “We don’t have the money for that, though.”

“How much does a furnace even cost in 1967?”

“I have no fucking idea.”

“Well, we can make it work.”

Fitz tossed his wrench into the toolbox with a clearly upset noise. He flexed his hands like they ached.

“Leo,” Hunter said, “come here.”

He sighed but came over to Hunter. 

“What?”

“Give me your hands,” Hunter said, holding his hands out, palms up. Fitz rested his  hands on top of Hunter’s, his hands tremoring slightly. “We can get through anything, including being a little broke to fix the house. If it’s a little cold in here, that’s okay, I can warm you up. You get hot all over when I fuck you.”

Fitz rolled his eyes.

“Sex is not the only solution to our problems. You can’t fuck your way out of everything.”

“I can certainly try, love,” Hunter said, bringing one of Fitz’s hands up to his lips to kiss his fingers, corner of his mouth meeting the end of his engagement ring. “Beyond the heating problem, everything is okay here. We’ll order a new furnace or whatever, and we’ll make do until it arrives. We’ll sleep in the greenhouse if we have to on sleeping bags with Cal between us. It doesn’t matter, we’ve got each other.”

“It’s just,” and he cut himself off with a shake of his head.

“What is it?”

“It seems like a  never-ending cycle. The tractor breaks, I fix it. The heater breaks, I fix it. The  _ truck _ breaks, I fix it. I’m always just patching things. I’m not  _ fixing _ the thing I need to fix, the reason we’re here, and – please, don’t look at me like that.”

Hunter raised his eyebrows at that, unaware that he was looking at Fitz any particular way. 

“I know we didn’t plan on being here this long, and I know we want to get back to present so we don’t have to hide, and I  _ know  _ us crashing here was my fault in the first place so I’m sorry that I can’t fix it.”

Hunter tugged him closer by their hands still joined together.

“Stop that,” Hunter said softly.

“What? I’m right, aren’t I? It was my stupid time drive that brought us here, and the  Quinjet I designed that crashed, and I can’t build a new one out here in the middle of fuck nowhere.”

“You’re not –”

“And I could probably build one but we’d have to leave middle of fuck nowhere to go to the Lighthouse so I could have the proper materials in the first place but I don’t want to leave even though we should. And it’s my stupid plan that didn’t work in the first place.”

“Hey –”

“I don’t even know why I thought it would work in the first place, because people are grossly incompetent so  _ of course _ , they’d lose the letter and not deliver it, so of course, they don’t know where to find us, and we’re going to die in Iowa without ever seeing our friends or family again, and we will never legally get married which isn’t a super big deal except that I desperately want to be your actual, legitimate husband.”

Hunter hadn’t heard a Fitz tirade like this in quite some time, and he was  clearly working himself up, and Hunter, who loved and respected Fitz deeply, did not have the patience for it that day. So, he reached out and pressed his hands into Fitz’s cheeks to squish them, and Fitz stopped, confused.

“What are you doing?” Fitz asked after taking a breath.

“You weren’t letting me speak, and I thought we were on the same page, but we have to go over some things. Now, this is not your fault. None of this is your fault. I don’t expect you to fix everything, especially not build a whole new  Quinjet and time drive. If we go home, wonderful, but we have a full, fulfilling life here in the middle of fuck nowhere. And I’m sorry if I’ve ever made you feel like you had to fix it, spend all of your time and energy trying to build impossible technology in your little shed. I don’t want that. If we need to try and find another way home, we can, but I don’t want you to stress yourself out over it.”

Fitz frowned between his hands. 

“I love you, Leo, and I also want you to be my actual, legitimate husband, but not at the cost of your happiness and well-being. We can think of another way to signal the team, but in the meantime, you and I will continue to live our life. You will fix or replace the furnace, and we’ll celebrate when it’s done. This is not the end,  baby. You are not responsible for fixing the world. All I need is you right here at the end of the day.”

Fitz sighed and let himself fall into Hunter’s arms.

“Sorry for being melodramatic.”

“It’s alright, you get to be sometimes. I mean, you’ve put up with a lot of my melodrama over the years. You get one or two,” Hunter said teasingly, pressing a kiss into Fitz’s temple. 

“I’m incredibly lucky to have landed with you.”

“I think you’ll find that I’m the one who is lucky.”

“Nuh-uh,” Fitz said, “I am.”

“Nope, it’s me.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

Hunter attacked his neck with kisses to distract him, and he laughed, the first laugh Hunter had heard all day, and he knew everything was okay. Everything was going to be okay.

* * *

As was tradition, Hunter baked a pumpkin pie, and went over to Paul’s house for Andy’s birthday. 

“Oh, Lance, come on in,” Pam said, looking around. “No Leo today?”

“Oh, no, he’s at the farm fixing Ida’s oven.”

“Is he qualified for that?” Pam asked. “I just don’t want him to get hurt.”

“He’s quite capable,” Hunter said, even though the comment irritated him a little. No one thought Fitz was an intelligent or as skilled at he was, and he hated it. They hadn’t seen him save the world, or build a space capable plane, so maybe they got that pass, but still, how could they not see just how amazing he was? He didn’t understand how someone couldn’t love Fitz immediately. He had. Fitz had been a bitter, broken little shit when they’d met, and yet Hunter had felt a kinship he couldn’t deny. 

“Lance!” Paul said as Pam let Hunter inside the house, taking the pie he offered. Hunter hung up his coat and toed off his shoes so he wouldn’t track snow and mud through their neatly kept living room. It was a cute house, one story with three bedrooms, plenty of space for a young couple and their rampaging toddler. “Glad you could make it. Leo?”

“Fixing something on the farm.”

“Always. We’re looking for someone to fix the heater in Andy’s room, if he’d be interested. We can pay a decent rate but we don’t want just anyone in our house if Andy is around. We trust Leo.”

“I can ask him, I’m sure he’d be up for it. He fixed the heating in my greenhouse.”

“Sweet!” Paul crowed. “Andy’s in the living room if you want to join us.”

“Sure.”

He followed Paul into the living room, where Andy was playing with Matchbox toy cars on a track.

“Hey Andy,” Hunter said, sinking down next to him. “How’s it going, bud?”

Andy handed a Hunter a Ford Thunderbird toy and put his own toy truck on the track, then made a buzzing noise with his mouth while pushing the truck to demonstrate. Hunter chuckled, and pushed the Thunderbird along the track after Andy’s truck and made the same buzzing noise. Andy giggled at him, and Hunter smiled back.

“How’s your year been? Learning a lot? You’re massive now, mate. You’re  gonna be a giant when you’re older, like your dad.”

“Yeah,” Andy agreed happily. 

Hunter played with him for  a while , racing their toy cars around the track with the appropriate noises. He hadn’t had this much unadulterated fun in so long. Obviously, he had fun with Fitz but he didn’t want to equate the two. It was just that Hunter had never spent time with a kid like this, never had the opportunity, had never giggled and honestly enjoyed himself like this.

“Okay, Andy, it’s time for lunch,” Pam said. “Will you stay, Lance?”

“Oh, no, I actually need to be getting back. Thank you, though, very much.”

“Say goodbye to Uncle Lance, Andy,” Pam instructed. Andy picked up the car he’d been racing and  threw himself into Hunter’s arms. 

“Goodbye, Uncle Lance,” he said into Hunter’s collar. 

“Bye, Andy,” he said. “You have a good birthday, okay? Enjoy your pie. I baked it special for you .”

“Okay.” He pulled back, grinning. “Love you.”

“Love you too, Andy.”

And then, Andy was turning towards his mom and was running back into her arms to get ready for lunch.

“See you around,” Hunter said to Paul who was cleaning up the toy cars and the track in Andy’s wake. 

“Don’t be a stranger, Lance. You’re always welcome here,” Paul replied as Hunter fetched his jacket from the entryway. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, tucking his feet back into his shoes. “I’ll send Leo your way to fix that heater.”

“Much appreciated. Get home safe, Lance.”

When Paul said home, Hunter didn’t even think of the Lighthouse or the team in the present. 

* * *

He spent the winter cultivating plants in his greenhouse that he’d plant outside for the spring, talking to them and pruning them. He also spent the winter at the library with Fitz, researching gardening techniques and PH levels of the soil and what plants did best in their area. He’d had to have help the first time he researched anything, far removed from any essay he’d written in secondary school. Fitz had helped him, showing him where to find the correct books in the nonfiction section, excitedly explaining the Dewey decimal system. Hunter loved him so much that he actually  _ listened.  _ Fitz showed him how to use the system to find the correct area.

“It’s a shame we don’t live in the present, you know, because you can find most of this information on Wikipedia and wouldn’t even need to leave the farm, but I’ve always been a fan of the library. Obviously,” Fitz had said. 

“Obviously,” Hunter had echoed.

He had been so patient, helping Hunter find the books which seemed the most relevant and how to skim through the table of contents for specifically what he needed. It had driven Hunter crazy, watching Fitz’s fingers run over the spines of books, and thumb through each one they’d selected. That had been before he could touch Fitz, and now, he didn’t need Fitz’s help, but still wanted him there so he could watch those hands handle the tomes with gentle care knowing exactly what they were capable of. Probably best that they didn’t, because Hunter was not known for his ability to keep his hands to himself.  Someday , Hunter was going to find the biggest, emptiest library he could, he was going to drag Fitz there, and they were going to make out in the stacks like Hunter had always wanted to do. 

He got good at research, though, knowing where he was going in the library. 

Some days he hardly felt like himself, unrecognizable from who he used to be. 

Some days he was glad.

When spring finally came, Hunter spent the days in his garden again, breathing in clean, warm air, getting his hands dirty. Before making lunch for the farmhands and Ida, before heading home for the day, he’d wash his hands clean in the kitchen sink, watching the water run brown then clear. He’d marvel at how he had a different definition now. Before, what he considered getting his hands dirty ran red, then pink, then clear. 

It seemed like a world away. 

Some days he hoped it would stay that way.

* * *

Fitz caught his hand one afternoon as they were starting to head home, the flowers blooming big and bright, right on time. 

“I have an idea, come on.”

He dragged Hunter away from the driveway and towards the fields.

“Where are we going?” Hunter asked. He whistled as they reached the edge of the field, calling Cal to follow them.

“Just, just  _ come on _ .” 

Hunter narrowed his eyes at Fitz, but followed, hand in hand. 

“Are you finally sick of me and are planning on murdering me where there are no witnesses and burying me in the field where I may feed the land with my decaying corpse?” Hunter asked.

Fitz rolled his eyes when he looked over his shoulder at him.

“You’re so dramatic,” Fitz replied. 

“You should really be used to that by now, love.”

“I am,” he continued, unbothered. “But I thought it worth pointing out again that you’re an absolute drama queen.”

“Excuse me, I am a king.”

“Mmmhm, sure, believe that if you want, baby.”

They cut through the corn had been planted, just starting to sprout through the ground. Hunter loved watching plants grow from seeds, seeing the little buds poking out of the soil, growing from nothing into something strong and durable. He cooed at them every time, not that he would ever tell anyone that, and luckily no one had ever witnessed it. 

He hadn’t bloodied his hands in years, but he might if they ever caught him.

“Okay, where are we going? For real.”

Fitz looked over his shoulder and just grinned, squeezing his hand.

“Trust me.”

He knew exactly what those words did to Hunter, said soft, open and honest eyes looking at him. He knew exactly what Hunter would do prompted by those words. Everything. He’d follow Fitz anywhere because he trusted him, to prove that he trusted him, and simply just because he did trust him. He’d hopped in the  Quinjet as soon as Fitz said he was going because he trusted Fitz. 

They’d been hoping to be a distraction for Hydra. SHIELD had acquired a weapon, in that Bobbi stumbled upon it during a mission, had grabbed Hunter and dragged him to meet up with the team, and they just hadn’t left, determined to see it out to the end. There was never really an end to the mission in Hunter’s experience. SHIELD, either way, had a weapon that Hydra wanted, and they were relentlessly pursuing the team to get it. Fitz had managed to hide the signal the weapon gave off in one location and mimic it in another, and they’d decided to try and throw Hydra off the scent while the Zephyr found a way to destroy it or seal it away permanently. Unfortunately, while Fitz and Hunter had been escaping with the asset, Hydra had blown them out of the sky, had hit the time drive, and instead of just crash-landing in 2019, they’d ended up here. 

He’d follow Fitz into any Quinjet, into any crash, into any time period.

Fitz and Hunter passed the edge of the field they’d crashed into, once scorched earth now lush with grass as the field rested for the year. Hunter and Fitz had never asked Ida what had happened to the remnants of the Quinjet, and she’d never offered the information. They kept going, Fitz still leading Hunter by the hand, Cal following behind them faithfully. There was a small cluster of trees at the edge of the field which marked the boundary between Featherstone farm and Henderson farm. Just at the edge of those trees, Fitz had set up a small blanket and a picnic basket.

“Leopold Fitz, what is this?”

“I realized I’ve never taken you on a proper date. We did this in a very strange order, not wrong, because it works, but strange. I’ve done things to you that should be saved for marriage, probably, but I’ve never taken you on a proper date.”

“Are you wooing me?”

“Have to keep you interested somehow,” Fitz said. 

“Oh, love, you don’t even have to  _ try  _ to __ keep me interested.”

Fitz guided him onto the blanket and they sat down in the middle beside each other.

“So, I had some help,” Fitz admitted. “It’s been a long time since I took someone out on a date, so I might have asked Ida for some tips.”

“Ida who also hasn’t been on a date in a long time?” Hunter asked.

“Yes, well, she’s a romantic and had a lot of ideas.”

“She’s planning most of our wedding, so I believe it.”

“I haven’t had a single decision in our wedding,” Fitz said. “Except that we’re getting married because I proposed. That’s my big contribution.”

“My big contribution was saying yes, so we’re in that boat together.”

“I don’t care how we get married, just that we do.”

Fitz busied himself with the picnic basket while Cal lay down in the grass nearby. 

“Oh, hold on,” he said, and took out a bone which he tossed to her. It landed about a foot away and Hunter watched her belly crawl along the grass to reach it instead of standing up.

“Yeah, she’s definitely my dog,” he laughed.

“I told you she takes after you,” Fitz said. He took out a couple of Tupperware containers and set them between their knees. Cal, too busy with her bone, did not notice. “So, full disclosure, I did not make this food.”

“Color me surprised,” Hunter said playfully.

“Part of Ida’s help was making food for the picnic. She also picked out the spot once I suggested it, so I’m not entirely helpless.”

Hunter grinned at him.

“I’d love this even if you were entirely helpless, love.”

He pulled Fitz in to kiss him, and Fitz sighed into his mouth.

“Someday, when we get back to 2019, the first thing I’m doing is kissing you in front of the world,” Hunter said, curling his hand in the fabric of Fitz’s shirt. “I’m going to take you into the middle of the street, where there’s cops or people watching, and I’m going to dip kiss the shit out of you.”

“I can’t wait,” Fitz said. Hunter released him and Fitz went back to setting up. “Okay, so we have dinner, and we’re going to watch the sunset, and I’m definitely going to feel you up on this blanket.”

Hunter laughed, delighted. 

“What?”

“I just can’t wait. I’ve never been wooed like this before.”

“What? You were married before.”

“Yeah, but not like this. Bobbi and I were hot and heavy and exploded, nothing like this. And every other relationship I’ve had was great but I was kind of the pursuer with all things.”

“No one’s ever taken the time to plan a date or anything for you?” Fitz asked quietly.

“No, not really. I’ve been – I guess. I’ve never thought about it before.”

“That’s okay,” Fitz said. “Luckily, I’m here now, and I will take you on every date anywhere. I’ll drag you to museums, and restaurants, and coffee shops, and festivals. You’ll be so wooed by  me, you’ll want to marry me twice.”

“I already do,” Hunter said. 

Fitz grinned, and popped open one container and another until their dinner was spread out around them. There were little tea sandwiches, soft cheese and crackers, fruit, charcuterie meats. Fitz, lastly, pulled out a bottle of wine. 

“Oh, looking to get me drunk, are we?” Hunter asked.

“I’ve seen you drink the entire team under the table, including Bobbi. A single bottle shared is not going to get you pissed.”

“Maybe I’ve gone soft in my leisure. It has been a while since I’ve had quite a bit to drink.”

Fitz hummed and said, “I think the last time I saw you seriously buzzed was Christmas eve.”

“This Christmas eve? I didn’t – oh, the Christmas eve before you lovingly sucked me off to tell me you loved me.”

Fitz rolled his eyes at him.

“Yes, Hunter, that Christmas eve. You’re such a charmer.”

“You woke me up on my birthday with sex instead of having a conversation first, so, who’s the charmer here?”

Fitz then drew out a corkscrew, and Hunter watched with fascination as Fitz masterfully held the corkscrew and twisted it into the cork at the top of the bottle. He was so beautiful to just look at. 

“Here,” Fitz said once the cork came free, passing the bottle over to Hunter while he freed the cork. “I did not bring glasses so we’re just going to drink it straight from the bottle.”

“Like heathens.”

“Like heathens, indeed,” Fitz agreed. Hunter raised the bottle to his lips and took a drink, and he could see Fitz track the way he moved, eyes flitting between his hand wrapped around the neck of the bottle and his lips pressed to the glass. “Jesus Christ, Lance.”

“What?” Hunter asked after swallowing, as if he didn’t know exactly what he’d been doing. Fitz was incredibly easy to rile up. Hunter rarely even had to touch Fitz to get him going, often getting him hard before he knew what was happening, completely unintentionally. 

“You know what you’re doing. Stop it.”

“I’m drinking the wine you brought us.”

“Well, don’t.”

“You just told me to.”

“I didn’t think you’d do it  _ like that _ .”

“I’m not doing it any specific way. You’re just horny.”

“I mean, I am,” Fitz said, “but that’s not the point. You’re intentionally being a tease because you excel at it.”

“I excel at it,” Hunter agreed, “but it’s not intentional.”

Fitz rolled his eyes, and Hunter reached out for his hand. Fitz took it and let Hunter guide him into a kiss. 

“For once, I’m not trying to get you into bed,” Fitz said, drawing away. He picked up a piece of strawberry and held it out to Hunter on just the tips of his fingers. Hunter leaned in and took the piece of strawberry from Fitz’s fingers. He purposefully wrapped his lips around the tips of his fingers when he really didn’t need to, and he could see the way Fitz’s pupils dilated. “That was on purpose.”

Hunter winked and reached for his own piece, one of the delicately cut tea sandwiches, which he held out to Fitz. He took it just as  provocatively , lips touching Hunter’s fingers unnecessarily, tongue coming out to take the piece instead of his teeth.

“Okay, I deserved that,” Hunter whispered out. 

“Should probably feed ourselves so we don’t end up dry humping in the fields,” Fitz commented, popping an apple slice into his mouth. 

“Yeah.”

They ate their meal, and talked about what they’d done that day as if they hadn’t been a few yards away at most points of the day. Sometimes, Hunter could hear Fitz cursing at the tractor, ever the thorn in his side, from the gardens. It was nice, though, domestic and soft to have little conversations about the garden, about the dog chewing lazily on her bone, their boss, their coworkers. They could almost forget they were displaced in time and space. 

As the sun started to set, Fitz drew a second blanket from the basket and pulled Hunter closer.

“Come here,” he muttered, laying back. Hunter shuffled into place on his back, but Fitz shifted him so they were facing. “I was thinking, what’s one new relationship thing we never really got to do? Or never did?”

Fitz kissed him, long and slow, lazy like a Sunday morning, no rush, no destination.

“We never got to just make out. We were always trying to make up for lost time, for all the years we could’ve been fucking but were too stupid to know that. I want to just lay under the stars, and make out with you like we’re not going anywhere fast.”

“We made out yesterday,” Hunter said.

“It does not count if it ends with sucking each other off.”

“That’s a stupid rule.”

Fitz spread the blanket out across them, and let his body mold into Hunter’s front, and kissed him again. It was another slow, sweet kiss, Fitz’s hands holding his neck. Every instinct in Hunter’s body wanted him to roll Fitz onto his back and rut against him, but Hunter let this moment stay, and then the next after. It was so easy to just stay like this, kissing, unashamed and unconcerned with the world. They were out in the open where anyone could see, except that they were out in the open where nobody would see, and that felt important. This little pocket of the world was safe, and good, and Hunter let his hands rest, still against Fitz’s ribs. Still. 

He’d never been good at it. He always itched to move, to change, to do something. He leapt before he looked, acted without thinking. Bobbi had always said he wasn’t a big picture kind of guy, too busy speeding through life to stop and take a step back. 

But here.

Here he could be still, and breathe deep, breathe slow, kiss like they had an entire lifetime ahead of them. 

Still.

He liked it. 

* * *

Ida changed her mind to a fall wedding sometime in the spring.

“ Why’s that?” Hunter asked, setting lunch down on the table inside for everyone to share.

“Imagine the photos,” Ida sighed. She had her own wedding album out, Randy leaning into her to coo at them. “You two would look so handsome set against a sunset, the sunflower field behind you.”

Her misty eyes were hard to say no to, and at the end of the day, as long as he got to call Fitz his husband, he’d accept the gaudiest, most shotgun wedding they could throw together. 

* * *

Hunter still breathed heavier at the Saturday farmers’ markets, and looked over his shoulder at the store. The Flower Festival, he spent coiled like a spring just in case, but he hadn’t seen or heard from those men from the parking lot. 

Fitz smoothed a hand over Hunter’s shoulders when he could get away with it, or ducked his head low to call Hunter love or baby, a small reminder that they weren’t cowed by threats. 

“We’re okay,” Fitz would say as they were packing up. “Another day, and we’re okay still.”

It was a good reminder. 

* * *

That summer started off quiet, the weather tame, the breeze through the trees nice as Hunter worked, but by mid-June, the sun was vicious and broiled the fields. There was no rain for weeks, and Fitz, no matter how much he lathered on sunscreen beforehand, came out at the end of the day pinked and burnt. He had freckles, though, brought out by the sun, that Hunter was obsessed with. One day, Fitz wore a tank top while working on the tractor, and Hunter found that there were freckles across his shoulders that he couldn’t keep from kissing. 

Hunter spent a lot of time in the gardens, carefully watering the plants so they wouldn’t dry out in the heat. 

“I miss England,” he moaned one afternoon to Randy who was taking a breather from working the field, chugging back a glass of water. “It does not get this hot in England.”

“I’d like to see England someday.”

“It’s not bad,” Hunter said, taking up his own bottle of water to drink. Cal was laying in the shade near Randy, panting in the heat. She looked miserable with her thick coat. Hunter considered wetting her down with the sprinkler but he wasn’t sure she’d appreciate that. 

“Do you want to go back someday? See your family, friends?”

“Not much family left,” Hunter replied. “Dad’s a right git, and my mum died when I was a kid. I’d like to go back to get a decent beer, but there’s nothing too sentimental for me there.”

“I’d like to go back to New Jersey someday, but I got outed there, so I’m afraid if I go back, I won’t be coming home,” Randy said seriously. Hunter nodded, understanding how that fear felt.

“Why’d you settle in Iowa? Of all places?”

“Joe,” he answered with a shrug. “I met him in New York City, right after I fled Jersey, and we were going to drive all the way to California and start a life there. But we got to Iowa, the car broke down, and Joe fell in love with everything out here. He loves being a farmhand, loves working with his hands, and how could I say no when he looked outside and had the biggest smile?”

“I get that,” Hunter said.

“Why’d you end up here?”

“Car crash,” Hunter said automatically. “Fitz and I were driving across the country, on a little holiday, and we lost control of the car. I got hurt, so Fitz got me to the nearest house and Ida patched me up. By the time I was better, we didn’t want to leave.”

“Ida’s hard to say goodbye to,” Randy agreed.

“She is. She gave us a place to stay, a place to belong. When we came out to her, she was so sweet, said she already knew.”

“Yeah, honey, everyone knew. You and Leo have been all over each other since day one.”

“I know, but it’s different when someone suspects and when someone knows.”

“True.”

“I wanted to tell her so she knew, so she knew I trusted her, so she knew exactly what we are and what we mean to each other. I didn’t want some assumption to keep us apart.”

Randy nodded. 

“We’re incredibly lucky to have met someone like Ida,” Randy said.

“Yeah,” Hunter said, looking towards where Ida was talking to Joe and Fitz, animatedly waving her hands around, “yeah, we really are.”

* * *

Their air conditioning worked overtime to keep the cabin cool, and Fitz worked overtime to make sure the air conditioning kept working. The night before their anniversary, Fitz and Hunter laid naked on the living room floor below the air conditioning. It was a Saturday, and Fitz’s nose was burnt from the day spent at the farmer’s market. 

“I kind of don’t ever want to move.”

“I never want to put clothes on,” Fitz said.

“I never want you to put clothes on, either.”

The only part of them that was touching was their hands, Fitz’s pinky looped around Hunter’s. It was soft, and sweet. 

Hunter loved the sweet side of their life together. He used to gag at the thought of it, back when he was a hard army lieutenant pretending that he wasn’t affected by the world. Sentimentality was for girls and queers, and Lance Hunter was neither. He hadn’t been a good guy before Bobbi. Hell, he’d barely been a good guy with Bobbi. There was a reason they were divorced. Luckily, he had Mack and Izzy and Idaho, all of his team members to lean on and learn. He loved this now,  lying next to Fitz, not trying to seduce him, just lying beside each other in the cool air, enjoying each other’s companies.

He hoped that this is how their life would always be. Soft. Sweet. Unhurried. 


	5. The Cabin, Year Five

Leo Fitz woke Hunter up on their anniversary with gentle kisses and sleepy blue eyes. Hunter felt Fitz’s eyelashes brushing against his jaw as he blinked, kissing along his throat. 

“What are you doing?” Hunter asked, voice breaking somewhere in the middle from sleep.

“Celebrating,” Fitz replied. He dragged his tongue over Hunter’s Adam’s apple. “Four years, baby.”

“Four years.”

“Another day closer to calling you my husband, too.”

“Mmm, you could start now,” Hunter said teasingly. 

“Don’t want to ruin the fun of our wedding night, do you? I have some plans for you, sir, that you’re going to love.”

“You could do anything you wanted to me and I would love it, to be fair. I’m very easy to please. For you, at least I am.”

Fitz shifted on top of him, then lay down again so he was completely settled against his chest, kissing where he could while laying down. 

“I had a dream last night,” Fitz said.

“A bad one?”

“No, not at all. We had a house as big as the farmhouse in Scotland, and Cal had a bunch of puppies just running around everywhere, and we had a couple kids. Simmons lived down the road, and it was nice.”

“A couple kids?” Hunter asked, sliding a hand up Fitz’s back to slip into his hair. The curls were wild that morning, standing up and out from the humidity and from Hunter’s hands the night before.

“Yeah, they had Scottish accents,” Fitz said playfully.

“I’m okay with that,” Hunter said. 

“What would you name our kids?”

“Something both Scottish and English, maybe,” Hunter said. “I’ve always liked the name Ainsley, though.”

“I like it,” Fitz said. “Which way are we hyphenating our last name?”

“Fitz-Hunter sounds better than Hunter-Fitz.”

“Ainsley Fitz-Hunter does sound good.”

“What do you think? You name the next one.”

“Finley, I think, for a boy.”

Hunter hummed, and kissed his forehead. 

“Elspeth for a girl,” Fitz continued.

“Isn’t that your mum’s name?”

“It is, but my mum has always gone by her middle name,  Aileas .”

“Your mum’s name is Alice?”

“ Aileas , but yeah.”

Hunter laughed, and said, “my mum’s name is Alice.”

“What? No!”

“Yeah!”

They laughed.

“Well, one of our kids has to be named Alice,” Fitz said. 

“Wait, so your parents are named Alice and Alistair?”

“Yeah, from what I remember, Mum thought it was fate when they first met, back before he got mean and ornery. She wanted to name me Alistair after him, just to keep with the whole theme, but Dad insisted on Leopold. Which is German, by the way.”

“Mmm, I like Leopold,” Hunter said, “Leo Fitz just fits together so good.”

“If you’d only known me as Alistair, you wouldn’t think so.”

“Maybe, but I like Leopold regardless. It fits with Lance, too.”

“It does,” he agreed. “I do like the way they sound together, much better than Alistair and Lance.”

Fitz rested his cheek against Hunter’s chest and sighed, a happy sound.

“What?” Hunter asked.

“Life is just so much more different than I ever thought it’d turn out. If you’d asked me years ago when I joined Coulson’s team where I’d be in 2019, I wouldn’t have answered 1967.”

“If you’d had, someone would’ve chucked you into an institution.”

“I’m sure. Even if I said because I wanted to figure out time travel, they’d question why the 1960s and not the future.”

“Future’s boring with its technology and its equality and stuff. We like to suffer.”

Fitz laughed, and the motion of it vibrated along Hunter, through him. 

“But besides that, I never would’ve suspected I would get to have this. I didn’t even know you at that time, but someone like you, someone brave and loyal and ridiculously hot,” he paused as Hunter laughed, “I didn’t imagine someone like you would love me. I’d been so head over heels for Jemma that I couldn’t see any other option, but had I known that Lance Hunter existed in the world.”

He trailed off and let out a quiet chuckle.

“What?” Hunter prompted.

“Young me wouldn’t have known what to do with you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You would’ve scared the shit out of me. If you’d flirted with me before the fall and before the pod incident, I would’ve tripped over myself and probably embarrassed myself. 

“I would have found you adorable back then, I think,” Hunter said. “Especially if you got flustered like that.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, you know I’m into dorks like you. I was immediately enchanted by your fumbling and your absolutely manic enjoyment of tech and science. I don’t understand half of things that you say sometimes, but god, do I love to hear you say them.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Fitz said. “I do like the idea thought of you having a crush on some dorky, scared-of-his-own-shadow lab nerd. That’s quite funny.”

“Not just any dorky lab nerd, though. I don’t get a hard on whenever I walk into the lab. It’s just you, specifically.”

“Life would be monumentally funnier if you absolutely popped a boner whenever you walked into the lab.”

Hunter tickled Fitz’s side lightly for that, and Fitz grinned at him, pleased with himself clearly. 

“Do you miss it?” Hunter asked. “The lab, the tech?”

“Yeah,” Fitz answered honestly. “I do. I miss having a challenge, and learning to create something on the fly. I miss Simmons being there next to me, finishing my idea. I miss people knowing that I know what I’m talking about. I love it here with you, and you’re the exception to everyone in this town, but I miss that certainty, you know? I knew I could fix something because I had the resources and the help. Hell, half of the technology I use in the lab doesn’t even exist yet here.”

“I wish I could help.”

Fitz kissed his chest, and replied, “I know, baby. You’re good at making me feel listened to, and making me feel smart.”

“You are smart,” Hunter said. “You know that.”

“I do, but people in town just think I’m an electrician or a handyman. They don’t know what I’ve created, what I’ve done, what I can do. They don’t know that I’ve literally saved the world so many times. I know that seems specifically very self-centered, but – I don’t know.”

“People will always underestimate you, Fitz, just like they always have, and you’ll prove them wrong every time, because you’re indescribable. Every day you amaze me, and I know what you’re capable of.”

Fitz nuzzled into his collarbone.

“You’re good to me. I don’t deserve you.”

“I don’t deserve you so we’re even.”

* * *

One night, Fitz threw himself out of bed, and ran from the room. Hunter pushed himself up, sleepily and blearily, and stumbled after Fitz. The light in the bathroom was on, the door open, and Hunter could hear the sounds of Fitz vomiting. 

“Oh,” Hunter muttered, finally understanding. “Oh, no.”

Fitz was knelt in front of the toilet, hands clamped around the rim of the bowl. Hunter sank beside Fitz, and ran his hand soothingly over Fitz’s back up and down. 

“You’re alright,” Hunter murmured, keeping his voice low and quiet. “You’re okay.”

One of Fitz’s hands moved from the toilet bowl to slide into Hunter’s.

“You know,” Fitz said between puking, “Simmons actually developed a medicine that cut down stomach flus.”

“Sure wish Simmons were here, then,” Hunter replied.

“If Simmons were here, we wouldn’t have to be here.” 

He stayed at Fitz’s side through the night, rubbing Fitz’s back evenly and letting Fitz fall asleep against him on the floor. Hunter spoke to Fitz quietly, telling him stories with no beginning and no end, letting his voice soothe him through sleep. He stayed awake, keeping an eye on him, even when his eyelids started to get heavy. He wanted to be there, awake and  alert, in case Fitz woke up. 

“Hey,” Fitz croaked in the morning, looking up at Hunter from where he was cuddled against Hunter’s chest. “You’re still awake?”

“Yeah,” Hunter said.

Fitz hummed and curled his hand in Hunter’s shirt. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Like someone took a trash bag and microwaved it.”

“You’re still gorgeous if that helps,” Hunter replied, pressing a wrist into Fitz’s forehead. He was warm, a low-grade fever burning through him, but not enough to worry Hunter. It was just a stomach flu, an inconvenience and nothing serious, but Hunter still didn’t like seeing Fitz sick, his face pale. “I’d still take you out.”

“What a compliment,” Fitz grumbled. “You’re going to get this flu if you keep hanging around.”

“I’ll always hang around. I don’t plan on going anywhere. Your flu is my flu.”

“I don’t want you to get sick.”

“I’m sure you’ll take care of me just the same,” Hunter said. He curled one hand around the nape of Fitz’s neck and stroked his fingers over Fitz’s skin, feeling the warmth under his hand. 

“I absolutely would,” Fitz said. “We’ll just pass it back and forth until we die.”

“Isn’t that marriage anyway?”

Fitz laughed, and then coughed, and whimpered. 

“Fuck, my entire body hurts.”

“I know. You probably need to get some fluids in you.”

“I don’t think I could keep anything down,” Fitz replied.

“Better to try,” Hunter said. “Stay here, baby. I’ll be right back.”

“I won’t go anywhere. I don’t think I can.” 

“Okay.” He shifted Fitz back against the toilet, and stroked his thumb over his neck slowly. “I won’t be gone long.”

He kissed Fitz’s temple and got up from the floor. He headed for the kitchen, stopping to grab the telephone off the hook to dial the farmhouse. Ida picked up after a couple of rings, and she greeted him.

“Ida, it’s Lance,” he said. 

“Lance! How’s it going, sugar?”

“Well, Leo is sick. So not great.”

“Oh, no. What’s wrong?”

“He’s been throwing up.”

“How’s he doing?” 

“He’s okay, just a little weak. He was throwing up all night, and he’s sore.”

“Oh, poor sweet boy. Take care of him, okay. Let me know if you need anything. I can get you medicine or, or whatever you need.”

“Thank you, Ida,” he said. “I’ll definitely keep that in mind.”

Hunter could hear from the bathroom Fitz start up another round of vomiting. 

“I’ve got to go, but I’ll call if I need anything.”

“I’ll keep someone near the house,” Ida promised. “Be safe.”

“Thanks, Ida.”

Hunter hung up the phone and poured Fitz a glass of water from the tap. Fitz probably wouldn’t be able to drink it but Hunter felt better to have it with him as he went back to the bathroom. He set the glass down on the sink and sat down next to Fitz.

“Wish I had some  Pedialyte for you,” he said, rubbing his back again. “I don’t even think  Pedialyte was invented yet, actually.”

“I don’t think I could keep it down anyway,” Fitz said. “Maybe an IV of it.”

“I’ll MacGyver something for you.”

“You’re too good to me.”

Fitz held up a finger and threw up. Hunter cooed and traced circles across his back, from the nape of his neck to the small of his back and back up again. When Fitz had finished vomiting, he leaned into Hunter’s arms again. Carefully, soothingly, Hunter rubbed knots out of Fitz’s muscles until he was relaxed and dozing in his arms again.

“Hey, try to drink some water,” he said, reaching for the glass. Fitz’s hands were tremoring and he couldn’t hold the glass. Hunter wrapped his hand around Fitz’s and held it steady as Fitz took a small sip of water. “Good. Good boy.”

Fitz chuckled.

“M-maybe not now, love,” Fitz muttered, lowering the glass to the floor. This flu was making Fitz’s stutter and hand tremors worse, and Hunter could see the frustration in Fitz’s face. “I do like that, though.”

“What? Like me calling you a good boy?”

“Yeah.”

Fitz gripped Hunter’s hand, and Hunter could feel the way his hand was tremoring. 

“We’ve got all the time in the world for me to call you a good boy,” Hunter assured him. “I’ll call you a good boy and remind you just how wonderful you are, behaving for me all through the night once you’re better.”

“Sounds good once my insides are not trying to come outside.”

Hunter kissed his forehead. 

“All the time in the world.”

* * *

It was Fitz’s birthday a couple days later, where they usually had a birthday dinner with the rest of the farmhands and Ida. Fitz begged off, claiming he didn’t want to infect everyone. He was still sore; Hunter could see that in the way his body moved. 

“I have a present for you,” Hunter said, kissing Fitz in their room and moving to lay him out on the bed beneath him.

“Baby, I love you, but I’m not super in the mood for sex right now.”

Hunter leaned over and kissed Fitz, sliding his hands over his chest to his neck.

“Mmm, good thing it’s not sex then.”

“Why am I in bed, then?”

“You can do other things in bed, you know.” Hunter shuffled off bed and said, “would you turn onto your stomach, please?”

He dragged the box he’d hid under the bed out and peeked at Fitz while he sorted it. There were some other items that he’d use later once Fitz was feeling better, but he pulled the baby oil out of the box and climbed back on the bed.

“I know you’ve been a little achy since you got sick, and I didn’t want to exacerbate that or anything. So,” he said, trailing off and kneeling beside Fitz’s hip. He popped open the cap to the baby oil and slicked his hands. Fitz turned his head, cheek resting against his hands, and he watched Hunter out of his periphery. 

“What are you doing?”

“Thought I’d give you a massage, love,” Hunter said, leaning over to kiss Fitz’s shoulder before he covered his skin with oil. Not that that would stop Hunter. He’d sucked olive oil off Fitz’s cock before. “Work some of those aches out.”

“Are you any good at that?” Fitz challenged.

“Have I ever rubbed you wrong before in all of our years together?”

“No.”

“Trust me, then. I’m going to take care of you, birthday boy.”

Hunter started with Fitz’s shoulders, feeling the lean, taut muscles under his hands. Fitz liked to downplay his strength, act like he was a wimp who couldn’t throw a punch, but Hunter had witnessed his growth since they’d met. He was strong, not just from the farm work, but from the danger of being a SHIELD agent, training and fighting for his life. There were so many times that people underestimating Fitz had saved his life, so he wondered if that’s why Fitz never showed off. 

He made even, slow sweeps across Fitz’s shoulders and down his arms, working the tension out of him as best as he could. It had been a while, of course, since he’d gone undercover as a massage therapist, but the techniques were still there and he used every trick that the girls at the parlor had taught him. He worked his way down from Fitz’s shoulders, his muscles relaxing under Hunter’s touch as he worked towards the small of his back. 

“Fuck,” Fitz managed, a moan slipping from him. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

“A massage therapist in Mexico named Tanya,” he replied.

“Thank Tanya for me.”

Hunter laughed, and enjoyed the way Fitz went loose, pliant below his hands. 

Fitz let little noises loose that Hunter had never heard before, and that delighted him even more than getting his hands all over Fitz. After years of touching, and teasing, and soothing, after years of trials and tests, he was still learning Fitz and how to make him moan. He leaned down and kissed Fitz’s cheek, lips lingering on his skin.

“Does this massage have a happy end?” Fitz asked.

“I thought you said you weren’t in the mood.”

“Well, that was before you spent fifteen minutes rubbing your hands all over me. A man can change his mind.”

“I’ll give you the happy ending you deserve, baby, in so many ways.”

* * *

“If I see Simmons again,” Fitz said on Jemma Simmons’ birthday, “I’ll be years older than her, and she’ll finally have won.”

“Won?” Hunter asked. 

“When we were in the Academy, and after, she wouldn’t let go of this ridiculous idea that there could only be one youngest graduate from Academy and it was her. It was a month. Less than. I’m definitely older than her now. She won’t let that go if I see her again.”

“She’ll just be happy to have you back, I think.”

“Yeah,” Fitz agreed. “I’ll be glad to have her too.”

* * *

The taller the sunflowers grew, the closer they were to their wedding. They could not say how close, though, because Ida refused to pick a date, saying that she would know when they were ready and she couldn’t rush the sunflowers. 

“Could we elope from eloping?” Hunter asked, laying out on his stomach on a blanket in the late summer afternoon sun. He was undressed down to his shorts, the heat warming his back. “Who knew planning a wedding would be so difficult?”

“We’re not really doing anything, though,” Fitz reminded him. He stretched out beside Hunter and offered him a glass of water. Hunter took it and sipped from it. “You’ve got some freckles of your own here.”

Fitz traced a pattern into the freckles on his shoulder with a feather light touch.

“I’ve never noticed.”

“Me neither,” Hunter agreed. Fitz playfully poked him in the side. 

“I like them. They’re cute.”

He kissed the freckles next.

“And of course, there’s these.”

He moved his fingers to the series of scars across Hunter’s back that marked where the  Quinjet’s hull had pierced him all those years ago. They were faint by now, and messy. Ida had done her best but she had warned him that it wasn’t going to be pretty. 

“These are my favorite.”

“You’re insane.”

“I’m not. If you hadn’t gotten hurt, we wouldn’t have stopped at Ida’s place, we wouldn’t have this life, and our someday-wedding wouldn’t be happening. I’m not saying I’m glad you got hurt, but if you hadn’t, I couldn’t do this.”

He kissed one of the scars along Hunter’s ribs.

“I couldn’t do this.”

He kissed another.

“Or this.”

His kisses trailed down the scars to the small of Hunter’s back. 

“I’ll never get sick of this. I hope I never do. I’m grateful for this, Lance. I’m so grateful for all of this.”

“Me too.”

Fitz kissed up his spine to the base of his neck, murmuring quietly. 

“You know, before we got together, I was just thankful that I landed with you. We could have landed anywhere, any-when, and I would have been fine because you were there. Even if we’d had to be on the run the entire time, it would have been okay because I got to be with you. I could have endured anything, and I still would if it meant you were happy, and safe, and free.”

* * *

Ida took them to a men’s clothing store in Des Moines one Saturday, sending Joe and Randy to cover the market in their places. 

“What’s happening?” Fitz asked as she ushered them from the car and into the store. 

“We’re getting you suits, sugar,” Ida said. “Can’t have you attending the wedding in jeans and a t-shirt.”

“I wouldn’t say no to that,” Hunter said. 

“No,” Ida said. 

“Jeans and a t-shirt are timeless,” Fitz added, nudging Hunter with a grin. 

“No,” she repeated. 

“You’re a killjoy, darling,” Hunter said playfully.

“You’re not wearing jeans and a t-shirt. I refuse to hang that photo on my wall.”

“You’re going to hang a photo of us on your wall?” Fitz asked, following Ida through the store and to the suits in a separate section. “That’s sweet.”

“I won’t if you two keep acting up like this.”

She sat Hunter down on a bench and introduced Fitz to a sales clerk who clearly doubled as the shop’s tailor named Hudson who would be helping them. 

“This is my boy Leo, he’s getting married in a couple of weeks, and we’re looking for a good suit for his big day.”

Fitz caught Hunter’s eyes, his expression slightly terrified as Hudson took out a measuring tape from his waistcoat. Hunter smiled at him, and watched with delight as Hudson stretched the measuring tape down Fitz’s arm and around his waist and down his chest.

“So, what were we thinking today? A nice tuxedo, maybe? Very traditional.”

“No,” Fitz interrupted, catching Ida eyes. “In Scotland, traditional is a kilt, so I’d like to avoid all traditions , if you don’t mind .”

“Don’t want your pasty legs on camera then?” Hunter teased.

“Aye, and my  knobbly knees.”

“Yes, the missus would certainly hate that.”

“Just a nice three-piece suit, I think,” Ida said before Hunter and Fitz could really get started. “Please ignore these boys, they don’t have proper American values yet.”

_ Proper American values _ , Hunter mouthed exaggerated at Fitz, who chuckled and earned himself a whap on the arm. 

“Behave, Leopold.”

Fitz made a face at her, but she was already moving with Hudson to the racks to go over the options. Hunter didn’t say it because it wasn’t something a friend would say, and certainly not in the 1960s, but he had a preference of suit on Fitz. Hudson and Ida spoke like Fitz wasn’t even there, but Hunter kept his eyes on Fitz as he perused the options.

“Can I offer an opinion?” Hunter added, watching Fitz’s fingers linger on a blue suit towards the end. It wasn’t a full three-piece, but instead was dark blue jacket and trousers with a light blue button-up shirt paired with it. It would bring out the color of his eyes, Hunter was sure, and it was exactly what Fitz was comfortable with. “As a friend of the bride, I’d say blue is a better color for him than a stark black.”

There was a piece of Fitz that Fitz himself was still terrified of, the Doctor from the Framework.  Fitz in a black three-piece suit, for Hunter, would be hot as hell, but  he loved Fitz too much and  he did not want him to see that part in their wedding pictures for the rest of their lives.

Ida looked at him, and he nodded towards Fitz. 

“Try that one on, sugar,” Ida said. Fitz took it off the rack and headed for the changing room. “Lance, come here, love. It’s your turn.”

Hunter stepped up next to Hudson and Ida, and let them take his measurements. Fitz stepped out halfway through, the suit’s jacket a little big on him, and the trousers a touch long, but Hunter sighed happily at seeing him. 

“That’s the one,” Hunter said quietly, and Fitz absolutely beamed at Hunter.

“Do I look like marriage-material?” Fitz asked, and his eyes were on Hunter, but it was Ida who answered.

“You look so handsome, Leo.  Lan – Laney, Elaine is so lucky to have you.”

Lance laughed, and nodded.

“Elaine really is,” he agreed. Fitz winked at him, and Hunter had to bite back the urge to kiss Fitz right there. Once they were back at the cabin, he wasn’t going to be able to keep his hands to himself. 

“And are you getting married as well?” Hudson asked Hunter.

“No,” Ida said, “Lance here is the best man.”

“ Yepp , that’s me,” Hunter said. “The best man.”

“How’d you become friends?” Hudson asked, wrapping the measuring tape around Hunter’s waist

“Hunter saved my life. We fought side by side for a long time and I could not imagine my wedding day without him there, you know?”

Hudson looked them over and nodded. They never had to specify what they were fighting, or when, because with their age and the year, everyone assumed they were talking about World War II. 

“Take a look through the suits, then,” Hudson said, waving him away. Fitz stepped in as Hunter stepped off. 

“You’ve always looked good in dark grey,” Fitz said low in Hunter’s ear, and pressed his hand into Hunter’s stomach where Hudson couldn’t see. “Just thought I’d throw it out there.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Hunter looked over the suits on the rack while Hudson worked with Fitz, pinning the jacket and trousers. He picked up a dark grey suit, and held it against him towards Fitz.

“Wonderful,” Fitz said. “Elaine would approve.”

“I’ll go try it on.”

Hunter wanted to ask Fitz to join him so he could run his hands all over him.

He couldn’t wait until their wedding night. God, the things that he was going to do to Fitz, and let Fitz do to him. 

He stripped off his clothes and set them on the seat in the changing room, and carefully stepped into the suit. He wasn’t a suit wearer most of the time, not usually at least, unless a mission had called for it. He’d worn a suit for when he’d gotten Fitz out of prison, playing a lawyer that Fitz had contacted, but he’d stripped out of it as soon as he could. That’s how it went most of the time. He wore the suit long enough to play his part convincingly, and traded it out once he was done. 

The suit was a little big in the arms, and was definitely cut for a taller man. He felt like a kid in his dad’s clothes and when he stepped out to show them, Fitz actually giggled. He’d never heard a sound come from Fitz that he’d call a  _ giggle _ , even though Hunter had been working on prompting and categorizing the different sounds he made. 

“Oh, mate,” Fitz laughed. “The color is great, but you’re so little in that suit.”

Hunter narrowed his eyes at him.

“Well, we can certainly hem that easily,” Hudson said. “But it is a very good cut for you otherwise, as well as the color.”

“Thank you,” Hunter said, hiking up the pants to walk across the room to stand near Ida. She fixed his collar on the jacket out of habit, and smiled at him. 

“I like it,” she said fondly. “You’re extremely handsome, Lance. Elaine is going to be very happy about the choice.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, “I think she will.”

* * *

Ida caught his arm on his way out to the garden from the farmhouse kitchen.

“I think they’re ready,” she said, her voice a whisper.

“What’s ready?”

“The sunflowers, of course.”

“Yeah?” he asked, looking out the window that overlooked the sunflower field. She grinned, and he grinned back.

* * *

The day he got married again, he couldn’t stop fidgeting. Fitz was at Ida’s house, much to Hunter’s irritation, and Hunter was at their cabin getting ready with Paul. 

“Are you nervous?” Paul asked as Hunter buttoned the cuffs on his shirt, fingers not quite cooperating.

“Anxious,” Hunter replied, “anxious to be married to him already. I was married once before, so I’m not worried about the actual wedding. I can say my vows and look him in the eyes and love him in front of everyone. I’m a little more nervous about the actual marriage because obviously my first one ended, but I want to be married to him. I don’t want anyone else, just him.”

“He is a good guy.”

“He’s the best,” Hunter said. “I know we haven’t told you much about our lives before Iowa, but it’s technically classified how we met. Mostly, though, Fitz was hurt pretty bad when we met, and even though he had no reason to trust me, he did, and we were a good team. I don’t know where I’d be today if it weren’t for him.”

Paul smiled.

“You’re good together. I’m glad you made it out of that alive.”

“Me too.”

“We’re incredibly lucky to have you here, both of you. The farm wasn’t struggling before, of course, but it’s certainly thriving with you and Leo around. And it’s nice to see Ida smile. Before you, since John passed, she was quiet, and didn’t laugh a lot. But you two, you really helped her see the light and the hope in the world. I hadn’t really seen her smile in weeks, not her big, bright, welcoming smile. She always had this shroud of sadness and grief around her, but then you two stumbled in, and it was like someone had turned on her joy, and she remembered what love felt like.”

Hunter smiled to himself, adjusting his shirt and reaching for his jacket hanging up on the door to their bedroom. The next time he stepped into this house, he’d be married to Leopold James Fitz, in practice if not on paper. Someday, the team would come. They’d sweep Hunter and Fitz back to the 21 st century, and Hunter would be so glad to have his phone back and see Bobbi again, and the first thing Hunter would do, besides hug Bobbi and Mack and Daisy and everyone else – hell, he’d even hug Deke at this point , how could he not when he was part of Fitz – the first thing Hunter would do was take Leo Fitz to a courthouse and get on paper married. That was someday, they didn’t know when that would be, if it happened at all, but now, that day, he was getting married. 

“We’re incredibly lucky to have found Ida, to be fair,” Hunter replied. He pulled the jacket on and buttoned it up. With the alterations that Hudson had made, Hunter had never felt better, or hotter. When Hunter had put the suit on at the fitting, Fitz hadn’t taken his eyes off of him. “I don’t think anyone else would’ve given us the chance.”

Paul checked the time.

“Okay, time to head on over. Are you ready?”

“I cannot tell you how extremely ready I am.”

* * *

Hunter hadn’t been at the farm since the day before, kicked out just after noon with Fitz in tow. 

“I’ll finish everything. You two go on home and relax,” Ida had said. 

“We can help,” Fitz had tried to argue but Ida was just as stubborn as they were, if not more.

When he got to the farm, though, he couldn’t believe his eyes. It was something out of a fairy tale, something from a carefully curated Pinterest board. There was a makeshift altar set up in front of the sunflower field, the archway from the picnic area oved and cleaned up, threaded with vines and fairy lights, almost like a  chuppah . He could see Pam standing off to the side underneath the shade with Andy by hand. Pam had dressed in a simple soft pink dress which was fitted at the top until her waist where a neat black belt cinched in her waist and the skirt flared out from there, with a matching pink headband. Andy was, adorably, dressed in black trousers and a white button-down shirt, the outfit completed with suspenders and an adorable checkered bowtie. Beside them, Randy and Joe had cleaned up nicely, wearing button-down shirts and clean slacks, which was the cleanest that Hunter had ever seen them. Randy had his camera in one hand and Joe’s hand in the other.

Fitz, though, wasn’t anywhere. Hunter held his breath for a moment, and then forcefully let it out, ignoring the panicked squeeze on his heart. It was unfounded, this irrational fear that Fitz would bolt before their wedding, but Bobbi had once said that no one should ever marry him and that apparently had stuck with him. 

“Ida said to keep you out here. Apparently she and Leo are doing something in the house that is, and I quote, none of his business,” Randy said, “so if you’ll come this way for some pictures.”

Randy was a good photographer, directing Hunter on where to stand, where to look, all gentle and patient. Hunter had gone undercover as a model once, so he could follow directions well enough but even if he hadn’t, Randy was excellent. He had Paul in a few shots, and then some with Andy, some with Paul, Pam, and Andy. 

“You are quite gorgeous,” Randy said. “Leo won’t know what hit him when he’s done.”

Hunter laughed, and Randy snapped a photo. 

“Are all Englishman as gorgeous as you?”

“No, mate, I’m one of a kind.”

“That’s true,” Fitz said from the porch nearby. Hunter turned and couldn’t stop himself from grinning. Fitz looked absolutely delectable, his blue eyes bright in the setting sun.

He heard Randy snap a photo.

Hunter had never been so in love with someone before – sorry, Bobbi. A light as air feeling in his stomach bloomed warm and excited.

“Hey handsome,” Hunter replied. “Told you the blue was a good choice.”

“You were right.”

“Alright, everyone in place, please,” Ida called, and the group fell into a loose line in front of the altar. She gestured Hunter  to wards the altar as well, and he stood in front of the archway, the sunflower field at his back with the flowers facing the ceremony.

Ida walked side by side with Fitz up to the altar and left him at Hunter’s side and stepped into the archway. It was the first time Hunter had ever seen Ida wear a dress, a soft yellow sundress with small white flowers like polka dots. She was absolutely beaming at Fitz and Hunter.

But no matter what, as always, Hunter’s gaze slid to Fitz, and he was astounded all over again how beautiful he was. He’d tamed his curls as best as he could, and he’d trimmed his beard. The dark blue of the suit contrasted against his skin, and his eyes were bright like they were excited for this important day too. The width of Fitz’s shoulders in the suit jacket paused the air in Hunter’s lungs and lit a fire inside of his chest. 

“You’re staring,” Fitz said.

“You’re gorgeous.”

“Are you ready?”

“Oh, love, I’ve been ready since we met.”

Fitz rolled his eyes fondly at him, his soft smile squeezing Hunter’s heart.

“Alright, everyone, thank you for coming and being here with us to celebrate the life and love of Leo and Lance. It is an honor and a privilege to know these wonderful men, and watch them learn and become better people. So far, Lance has learned to cook, bake, and tend to the gardens, and is personally responsible for our award-winning roses three years running. Leo has single-handedly kept the farm running. When something breaks, Leo can fix it. He’s practically rebuilt the tractor that we depend on to keep up floating. Without you, we wouldn’t be doing nearly as well as we are. But they’re so much more than just workers at this point. Leo and Lance have become family, and brought sunshine back into my life and my home when I desperately needed it. I have watched these two fall in love every single day, and I can’t imagine any two people better suited for marriage. Hopefully, someday, the law and the heart of society will change and you may marry on paper, but it is just as good to live and love, and pledge yourselves to each other in front of your friends and your family. Now, Leo and Lance have prepared vows. Leo, you first, sugar.”

Hunter looked over from Ida to Fitz and smiled even bigger at the slight shine of tears in his eyes.

“Hi,” he said, making Hunter left. “There’s so many things I want to say, and I don’t want to stumble over my words today. When I dropped into the ocean and came out in a coma, I couldn’t imagine the path that started me on. When I met you, broken and alone, I couldn’t possibly begin to believe that I would be safe again let alone loved and happy. It’s taken us years – it's taken  _ me  _ years in order to feel like this but I wouldn’t have without you. You are everything I’ve ever wanted, everything I’ve ever needed, and even more than what I can comprehend. When I wake up in the morning, when I go to bed at night, and you’re there with me, I am so  unironically blessed. There’s a saying in Scotland; it’s a long road that’s no goat a  turnin ’.”

Hunter couldn’t stop his giggle at the way Fitz’s accent dipped thicker.

“And what’s that mean, love?”

“More or less, don’t let the darkness get you down, the world can’t always be bad, we’ll get through it. No matter what comes at us, no matter who disagrees with us, the road will turn, we’ll be okay because we’ve got each other now. No more nightmares, no more nights alone. You and me against the world forever, Lance.”

Hunter reached out and took Fitz’s hands, and found they were steady and sure. 

“You made Coulson proud with that speech, love,” Hunter said, and Fitz sniffled a little. “I wish everyone could be here today just to see how far you’ve come. They’d be so proud you.”

The tears welled in Fitz’s eyes, his eyes suddenly an ocean that Hunter would gladly sink into.

“Lance?” Ida prompted.

“Right, so, I’m not a brilliant public speaker, half of my life spent in shadow and all. But, when I sat down to write my vows, I kept coming back to just how incredibly and astronomically lucky I actually am. When we met, you were not broken but you were alone and scared of the world, rightfully so, of course. Because of you, though, I stuck around the Playground long after I should have. But I'm so glad that I did. I’ve been scared of marriage, of commitment, never sure that someone would actually want me long-term after Bobbi. I was scared that someone would fall in love with me, but not want to fall in love with the next version of me, or help me discover who I can be. But you’ve been by my side through this whole journey, discovering what I can do, who I can be. I want to continue down this path with you, growing together and around each other, learning who we are together and as separate pieces. I want to always be learning to be someone new, someone worthy of the you that you’re becoming. I want to grow with you for the rest of our lives, Leo, because I can’t think of someone I want to meet every single version of more than you.”

Hunter swallowed as his own lump of tears and let out a breath to keep himself from crying in front of everyone.

“Man and husband?” Fitz asked Ida hopefully. “Please say man and husband.”

“By the power vested in me by, well, me and the state of this farm, I now pronounce you man and husband. You may kiss your  groom .”

Fitz launched himself into Hunter’s arms, kissing him deep, sliding his hands up the back of Hunter’s suit and gripping his jacket. He slipped his tongue into Hunter’s mouth eagerly, even with everyone looking at them. Hunter had to keep himself from moaning into Fitz’s mouth. There would be time for that later, but Hunter wanted it then, right then, so bad, let Fitz press him into the archway and have him. All of him. 

Their friends and family around them cheered, and there was a click of a camera as Randy took photos. There was even a little high-pitched yell as Andy cheered for them, too. 

“I have a surprise for you,” Fitz whispered, breaking the kiss and resting his forehead against Hunter’s. “But that’ll wait until after the reception.”

“Is it a naughty surprise?”

“I have a lot of naughty surprises for you,  _ husband _ . But not this one.”

“I like the way you said that, husband.”

Fitz released him, but Hunter caught his hand before he could go too far. 

“Don’t you go too far,” Hunter said. “I need you close.”

“Don’t worry, baby,” Fitz said under his breath, pressing a kiss to Hunter’s cheek, lips lingering. “You’re going to have me so close tonight.”

* * *

The rest of the night came in blurs. Hunter remembered kissing Fitz as often as he could, and whispered in his ear, calling him husband. When they were alone, or at least removed from the guests a little, Fitz had a tendency to lean back into him in return and tell him the dirty things they were going to do when they got back their cabin. 

Hunter remembered that they partied for hours, and smashed cake in each other’s faces, and danced on the lawn to the radio, singing at the tops of their lungs, and drank Ida out of the good stuff stash. 

Andy fell asleep in his dad’s arms not long after dinner and cake, and Pam kissed Fitz and Hunter’s cheeks on their way out.

“I’m so happy for you,” Pam said. “Be good, boys.”

Fitz had lost his jacket at some point, despite the fall chill coming in at night, and Hunter kept running loose palms over Fitz’s chest and shoulders.

“You’re  handsy when you’re drunk,” Fitz accused but kissed him when Hunter leaned in for one. 

“I can’t help being  handsy when you look this good. It’s just not fair. How am I supposed to not put my hands all over this?”

He punctuated his statement by running his hands eagerly down Fitz’s sides and grabbed his ass. Fitz groaned and fell back against the archway they’d gotten married under. The lights around them, the pleasant buzz of alcohol in Hunter’s stomach, the soft 60s pop music playing from the radio shoved in the window, it all felt like a dream. 

“I love you,” Hunter said. “I haven’t said it in a few hours.”

“You said it ten minutes ago when I brought you a piece of cake.”

“Mmm, I did, and I meant it then, and I mean it now. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“You had a surprise for me, though?”

“I did. Come along.”

Fitz took him by the hand, and walked them into the farmhouse. He was remarkably steadier on his feet than Hunter was, which was and wasn’t surprising. Fitz was capable of matching Hunter shot for shot and never ended up nearly as completely pissed as Hunter was. It was amazing.

What remained of their wedding cake sat on the kitchen table, half eaten, a simple two-tier cake that Ida had gotten from the local bakery, decorated not in the traditional white fondant and candy pearls but with sunflowers and their initials in a heart across the top like something you’d carve into a tree as a teenager. It was cute, seeing Fitz’s LF next to Hunter’s LH. 

“Come along,” Fitz repeated, towing him past the cake. He reached out with his free hand and swiped a bit of frosting along the platter, which he happily sucked from his finger. Fitz rolled his eyes and pulled Hunter closer in the dark of the kitchen entry to kiss him, slow as anything, tongue licking along Hunter’s to taste the sweet icing. He hummed as he pulled away. “You taste so good, you know.”

“Are you sure this isn’t a naughty surprise?” Hunter asked.

Fitz brought him up the stairs and into their old room. The beds were pressed together in the center of the room again, and the curtains were drawn, allowing the fairy lights that had been strung up around the room to light the space.

“What is this?” Hunter asked.

“So, we’re a little too drunk to make it back to our cabin safely, and I thought it would be nice to spend our first night as husbands in the place this all started. You and me, curled together in a twin bed, trying to fight off all the darkness, and pretend like we weren’t waking up with hopeless boners every morning.”

Hunter laughed.

“I was being polite not mentioning your morning boner.”

“You were. You were a perfect gentleman.”

Fitz walked them over to the bed and they crawled in, still wearing their dress shoes and clothes, but Hunter couldn’t think of a better way to spend their wedding night. He was still pleasantly buzzing, and he tucked himself into Fitz’s arms. 

“This is really sweet, Leo, thank you.”

Fitz kissed his shoulder and said, “I wish everyone could have been here, too. I loved every second of today, every single thing about marrying you, but I wish everyone could have seen it. I wanted Daisy to make a stupid speech making fun of us, and Jemma to try not to cry, and Mack to be your best man, and Coulson to marry us. I loved Ida’s speech, but I wanted our team there.”

“Me too,” Hunter agreed. “I wish I could have talked to Bobbi, get her approval, you know?”

“Her approval?”

“Yeah. I never told you this but Bob and I had been trying to make things work before I broke you out of prison, but had given up before we joined you and the rest of the team. She asked me once, when I got your messages, if you would be a problem and I assured her that you wouldn’t. So, it would have been nice for her to see us together and to get her blessing.”

Fitz frowned and Hunter wanted to take it all back.

“You promised Bobbi you wouldn’t get together with me?”

“I promised Bobbi that I wouldn’t leave her for you, but that was before we decided we weren’t working, that we were better off just as friends after all this times.”

Fitz was quiet, and Hunter tipped his head back. 

“I’m not cheating on Bobbi with you, baby,” he assured him, leaving a kiss on Fitz’s chin. “Bobbi and I were done with for a year, or longer, before we ever joined back up with SHIELD again, and then it was another year before you and I did anything here in Iowa. I wouldn’t have done anything with you if Bobbi and I were together, you know that, right?”

“I do,” Fitz replied and shifted to kiss Hunter on the forehead. “I just didn’t realize that you felt like that for me for so long. Or that Bobbi knew.”

“I told you, it’s been years, and Bobbi knows me very well. She knew I had feelings for you before I did, I’m sure, but she only said something when there was a Me and Bobbi to worry about. I told her not to worry about you because I knew – or I thought you were straight, and I wouldn’t get in between you and Simmons. I was satisfied watching you be happy with her as long as you were happy.”

“You’re a better person than me, then.”

“Why’s that?”

“I almost kissed you a dozen times after you broke me out of that prison. I thought about you and what it would be like to see you after so long apart. I thought I’d never see you again after we left that bar, but after the team was gone, and I was in prison, all I wanted was to see you. And god, you looked so good when you walked through that door.”

“What stopped you?”

“You made a comment about Bobbi and I remembered that you and her had made up, and I wanted to let you be happy with her, but if you’d said anything, I would have jumped your bones.”

Hunter couldn’t help his laugh, curling his hands in the soft material of Fitz’s shirt.

“I wish I had, then, but we might also not be here if that was the case.”

“Mmm, true.”

Fitz unbutton the first couple of buttons on Hunter’s shirt and kissed his chest. 

“Leopold,” Hunter warned.

“I’m behaving.”

“Your lips on my chest says otherwise.”

“Am I not allowed to kiss my husband now?”

“Not in what feels like our childhood bedroom with all of our friends just outside.”

Fitz’s hands danced with teasing feather softness down Hunter’s side and pushed into the waistband of his dress trousers.

“Leo,” he groaned, trying for firm but whining as his bare skin touched Hunter’s. “ Motherfuck .”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” Hunter said. “Please, don’t stop.”

Fitz left slow kisses like presents across his skin and worked on the button of his trousers at the same time.

“So much for this not being a naughty surprise,” Hunter managed.

“This is tame compared to what I have planned for you, Mr. Fitz.”

“I can’t wait, Mr. Hunter.”

Fitz’s hand slipped into his trousers and boxers, and wrapped around his cock, half hard just from Fitz’s touches. 

“This weekend, I’m going to take you apart,” Fitz muttered into his neck, stroking him slowly, leaving feather kisses along his skin. “I’m going to lay you out in our bed, slowly undress you, kiss you all over, taste you, drag my tongue all over your body until you’re desperate.”

“You’re such a tease,” Hunter grumbled.

“You chose to marry this tease. You put a ring on this.”

His left hand was inside his pants, but he felt the wiggle of Fitz’s left ring finger against him. 

“When you’re begging me to continue, I’ll finally stroke you, just like this, your dick perfect and hard in my hand. I’ll keep you on the edge of coming, because I love the way you beg, the way you gasp and try to thrust into my hand. I love the little sheen of sweat you get across your chest when you’re turned on for a while, how hot your skin gets.”

“What are you doing?” Hunter whined.

“I gave you my public, loving vows earlier. These are my private, dirty vows.”

“Come down and kiss me,” Hunter requested, voice reedy. 

Fitz grinned, and kissed Hunter, tongue exploring his mouth like he wasn’t intimately familiar already, his hand lovingly stroking Hunter’s cock. Each stroke roiled through him, and he couldn’t stop his hips from trying to lift to meet Fitz’s hand.

“Do you know how much I love you?” Fitz asked, drawing away to settle next to him. “I haven’t met a part of you that I don’t absolutely adore. I love every sound you make. I love how you look at me when I’m pleasuring you. You get this soft adoration in your eyes, and your mouth opens just the littlest amount. I love how your mouth looks when you moan, the way you bite your lip, the way your lips look afterward, bitten and flushed. God, when you bite your lip outside of the bedroom, I have to restrain myself from jumping you because it turns me on so much.”

“Maybe I do it on purpose.”

“I know you do, you’re a tease.”

“You don’t have a whole lot of room to talk here,” Hunter argued, gesturing to Fitz’s hand hidden in his pants still. 

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” 

Fitz kissed the pulse point in his neck and murmured, “do you want to come, Hunter?”

“If I say not yet, that doesn’t mean you win.”

“Oh, baby, we all win here.”

He twisted his hand just right, and Hunter leaned into him as he keened. 

“Tell me what you’re going to do to me, please.”

“You want me to tell you how I’m going to lay you out on the bed, and hook your legs over my shoulders, and first, I’m going to kiss and suck all over your cock, the way you deserve to be treated. If you keep still, I’ll reward you by eating you out.”

Hunter whimpered at that.

“Yeah? You like that?”

“You know I like that,” Hunter said. “You’re so good at it. You’re the best. I’ve never had someone eat me out as good as you.”

He felt Fitz’s smile at the praise. 

“I’m going to run my tongue all over you, and finger you open, slowly and thoroughly, the way that drives you crazy, until you’re begging me to fuck you.”

“As if I wasn’t begging from the start?”

“You are impatient,” Fitz agreed. 

“Do you love that about me, too?”

“Of course, I do.”

He twisted his hand around Hunter’s cock perfectly, and Hunter’s hips lifted off the bed eagerly.

“Fuck,” he whimpered out. “Leo, I’m so close.”

“Are you?” Fitz teased, voice playful but still somehow loving and reverent. 

“You know I am.”

“I guess I’ll ask again, do you want to come?”

Hunter didn’t actually know; he loved this moment with Fitz, in this bed, in this house, Fitz giving him what he wanted, and he wanted to live in this moment with Fitz forever, but god, he also just wanted to come. He wanted that so bad.

“Yes,” he finally said. Fitz kissed his collar and dragged his teeth over Hunter’s skin up to his ear. 

“Good. When I’m done opening you up, my fingers buried inside you, I’ll fuck you slow, drawing every sweet sound you make out of you, every gasp, every moan, every bitten-off curse. I’ll wrap your legs around my waist to keep you in place, and hold your hips still so you can’t take more than you’re given.”

Hunter wanted to scoff at that, as if he was ever that petulant, but he was, and he knew it. And he didn’t have enough wherewithal to scoff anyway, too focused on Fitz’s hand on him, the perfect pressure and rhythm of his strokes. Fitz knew what he was doing, and even more than that, the thing that turned Hunter on the most was that Fitz was confident. They’d never really been shy around each other, especially not sexually. If Fitz wanted to try something, he’d just ask. Hunter never felt like his curiosities would be laughed at, and they’d created this safe space between them. Fitz, because of this, knew exactly how to pleasure Hunter, and he wasn’t afraid to do it. 

“That sounds good,” Hunter whined.

“ Yeah? You like that?”

Hunter nodded, absolutely breathless otherwise.

“What else?”

Fitz grinned, wicked and smug.

“I’ll keep you on the edge,  and refuse to touch your cock until  I decide you’ve been a good  boy. Then, I’ll fuck into you hard and fast, and jerk you off just as hard, the way I know you secretly like.  I’ll let you come  all over yourself and me first, and when you’re tired and oversensitive, I’ll come inside of you and mark you up as mine.”

Hunter’s orgasm hit him sudden and bright, bowing up into Fitz as he came , Fitz's name tripping from his tongue in a moan. Fitz  didn’t stop stroking Hunter until he was whimpering from how oversensitive he was.

“God, you’re beautiful, baby. You’re so good.  I love you.”

“I love you,” Hunter murmured out himself.

“ We’re married,” Fitz said softly. 

“We’re married,” Hunter agreed. “ Give me a second,  I’ll blow you away.”

“I know, I trust you  always  will.”

* * *

“Hey, can you come here, husband mine?” Hunter called, balancing the mixing bowl on one hip while he reached for the timer he’d set on the counter that was buzzing along. Fitz popped out of the living room, grinning at him. 

“You can’t keep using that to get me to do what you want,” Fitz said, but he came over to Hunter’s side. Hunter set the bowl in Fitz's arms.

“Stir, please.”

He’d woken up late that morning and was about three hours behind schedule baking for the Fall Festival.

“ Stir,” Fitz echoed.

Hunter  grabbed his oven mitt and pulled the muffins out of the oven and set them on the  stovetop. He moved over to the fridge and grabbed the cookies he’d scooped out onto a sheet pan earlier.  Hunter put the cookies in the oven and twisted the timer to the proper time.

He took the bowl back and kissed Fitz's cheek. 

“What else can I do?” Fitz asked.

“There’s  racks up on top of the fridge ; could you grab those and set them up on the table to cool the muffins on?”

Fitz did as Hunter asked the rest of the week leading up to the Fall Festival, which was nice to work alongside him. What was nicer was the work was cut in half with Hunter walking Fitz through directions and they got done each day early.

“You’re learning fast,” Hunter said, leaning Fitz into the counter in their kitchen. 

“I’ve been told,” Fitz said, “I’ve survived on being able to learn fast.”

“Considering I couldn’t trust you with scrambled eggs just a short while ago, you’ve made vast improvements and I’m very proud of you.”

* * *

The first week of December, the snow came down fast and hard, trapping them inside the house. 

“Hey,” Hunter said, leaning into Fitz’s shoulder as he was reading on the couch. “Get your jacket and boots on, meet me outside.”

“What are we doing?” Fitz asked.

“Come and find out.”

He headed outside, letting Cal go running out into the snow excitedly. The snow plows hadn’t come yet, so the yard was a flat expanse of undisturbed snow, twinkling brightly in the morning sun. The air was chilly, but nothing Hunter and Fitz couldn’t handle. Besides, their cabin was nice and warm to go back to. 

“Lance, what are you doing?” Fitz said, coming out onto the porch after him, wrapped in his thick winter jacket, frowning. 

Hunter turned to grin at him, and then stooped down to run his hands through the snow and gather a clump in his hands.

“Lance,” Fitz said, his voice a warning.

“What?” he replied, even as he packed the snow into a ball between his hands. 

“Don’t do it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, love.”

“You’re literally making a snowball right now.”

“ Nuh -uh.”

Fitz pulled his gloves out of his pocket with a sigh, and Hunter took a few steps back away from the porch. 

“Are you sure you want to start this with me?” Fitz asked. 

“You think I’m scared of you?”

“No,” Fitz said. “But you haven’t had a snowball fight with me yet.”

Hunter grinned at him.

“And you haven’t had one with me. Remember that I am a military-trained sniper and mercenary with hundreds of successful missions.”

Fitz replied easily, “remember that I was once the head of Hydra who committed horrendous atrocities and had impeccable aim.”

“Yes, well, that was certainly a different life, dear,” Hunter said casually. Fitz pulled the gloves on and wiggled his fingers. He liked that Fitz didn’t flinch at the mention, or the thought of the Doctor. He’d forgiven himself for being that man once in the Framework, something he didn’t choose, something he didn’t control. It had taken years, of course, and Hunter soothing him at night, but somehow, here they were, still healing but Fitz was healed enough to make jokes about the Doctor without spiraling. “You’ve gone soft since then.”

“Oh, you want to talk about soft, huh?” Hunter narrowed his eyes at Fitz. Hunter hadn’t really worked out since they’d gotten to the farm. He kept in shape by helping out around the farm, but any strict muscle definition he’d once had had melted away with age and time. He didn’t expect Fitz to point that out, though. “Mister Talks to Baby Plants in the Greenhouse.”

“Oh!” Hunter laughed, “you want to go there? Mister Cried at Our Wedding.”

“You cried, too!”

Hunter moved as Fitz did, and then ducked behind a tree in their front yard first.

“Oh, are you hiding, baby?” Fitz called, and Hunter could see him ducking to grab his own handful of snow. Hunter took that opportunity to lean out and launch his snowball, hitting Fitz in the shoulder. “Cheater.”

“There are no rules, therefore I cannot cheat.”

Hunter slid down the tree and scooped up another handful of snow to pack. When he peeked back around, Fitz was gone from the front yard. Hunter grinned. This was the kind of snowball fight he’d always loved, sneaking from hiding spot to hiding spot, waiting for your opponent to peek out or move and nailing them in the side, ambushing them. It was invigorating, like training missions in boot camp. He felt like a kid again, even as his joints ached a little from the cold. 

They hid behind the car, and the bushes, chasing each other around the cabin, around the greenhouse, around the shed, and back again. They taunted each other, and hit each other with tightly-packed snowballs that might leave bruises later since they weren’t so young anymore, and laughed.

God, they laughed.

Hunter hadn’t had so much fun, not like this. Cal seemed to be having the time of her life as well, her thick coat keeping her warm as she ran around with them, barking and trying to catch the snowballs midair. 

When they’d made another circle back into the front yard, Hunter dove behind the car and fired off a snowball that accidentally hit Fitz square in the face. 

“Oh, shit!” Hunter said, peeking over to see Fitz covering his face. “Are you alright?”

“I think there’s ice in my eye,” Fitz called out. Hunter stood and jogged, as best he could through the several feet of snow, to Fitz’s side. 

“Here, let me see.”

Fitz took his hands away and squinted at Hunter, his eyes definitely red from the impact. 

“Sorry, baby, wasn’t trying to aim for your face.”

“So much for a military-trained sniper,” Fitz joked as Hunter put his hand on Fitz’s chin to hold him still. “Mm, glove, baby.”

Hunter withdrew his hand to peel the snow-crusted glove off and shove it in his pocket. He put his hand back and stroked over Fitz’s chin with his thumb. 

“Look up,” Hunter said, and Fitz’s eyes swept up towards the cloudless sky. “I don’t see anything. Might have hit and bounced out.”

“Yeah,” Fitz agreed softly, and his eyes came down to meet Hunter’s. A soft smile spread across his face, loving and sweet.

And then, Fitz shoved a snowball he’d held hidden in his palm somehow down the back of Hunter’s jacket and in his shirt, the cold snow and ice skittering down his warm skin to sit at the small of his back, trapped where his shirt was tucked into his trousers. The snow began to melt immediately, and icy water dripped down over his ass.

“Leopold James!” he yelped, and bounced away from Fitz before he could surprise him with anything else. “What the fuck!”

He dragged the shirt out from the waistband of his pants and lets the snow fall to the ground, even as a small trickle of melted ice slipped between his ass cheeks unpleasantly. Fitz was beside himself, the grin on his face proud. 

“You’ve got better aim,” Fitz admitted, “always have. But I know how to play you, Lance. Always have. Only way to win.”

Hunter let out a light laugh, and stepped closer to Fitz, grabbing him by the hips and dragging him in. There was no one out on the roads with this much snow, not until the plows came through, so when he kissed Fitz, it was with all the confidence in the world.

“You win this time on a technicality, husband.”

“My favorite type of victory. Now come inside so I can warm you up, yeah?”

* * *

They spent Christmas, as they always did, with Ida. Fitz woke him up in the morning the way they always did for an early morning orgasm, but before noon, they drove over with Cal to the farmhouse. Ida had a warm breakfast waiting for them, and they ate together, laughing and teasing at each other. 

They exchanged presents after brunch, and watched It’s A Wonderful Life and White Christmas while drinking Ida’s spicy eggnog. Cal slept, pressed into Beau’s side, and Hunter felt full, surrounded by his love, his family. 

* * *

When 1967 passed to 1968 in the middle of the night, the team still hadn’t come, but Hunter toasted to them anyway.

* * *

Hunter was making dinner when the phone rang. 

“Baby, can you grab that?” Hunter asked, stirring the sauce for dinner so it didn’t burn. 

“Sure,” Fitz said, standing up from the dining table where he was sketching some design out in his notebook. He almost needed a new one. 

Hunter would have to find him a new one the next time they went to store. 

“Hello,” Fitz answered. “Hi Paul.”

Hunter tipped his head towards the conversation as if that would suddenly allow him to hear the other side of the conversation.

“Yeah, he’s right here. One second.”

Fitz stretched the cord across the kitchen and held the phone up to Hunter ear. 

“Paul?” 

“Lance! Hello!”

“How’s it going?”

“Good, good. Hey, listen, I have a quick favor to ask of you if I could possibly inconvenience you.”

“Go for it.”

“It is my anniversary with Pam tomorrow, and I’m taking her on the town, and we’re going dancing, and drinking, and you know, have a little alone adult celebration.”

“ Ahh , understood,” Hunter said. “What do you need?”

“Usually our parents watch Andy, but my dad is in the hospital, and her parents are out of town, so we want to leave him with someone we trust, but it’s a short list.”

“You want me to babysit?”

“Yes, please.”

“Okay, sure. Would it be overnight? I don’t have a bed or anything for him to sleep in.”

“It wouldn’t, but he would be there quite late.”

“Okay, that’s okay, then,” Hunter said. 

“We’ll bring him by before dinner tomorrow, then. Thank you so much, Lance.”

* * *

Hunter loved Andy; he was funny and talkative. His little American baby babble was adorable, even as it gave way to full sentences. He wasn’t a messy kid, either, preferring to stay inside rather than play in the mud outside. If he did play outside, he’d immediately come up to Hunter with his hands held out away from him like they’d personally offended him with their dirt and grime. He’d clean Andy’s hand with the handkerchief he started keeping in his pocket, and then he’d send him on his way.

Hunter loved Andy, but he’d never babysat before and clearly neither had Fitz.

“This is terrifying,” Fitz said, watching Andy play with toy cars. “What if we break him.”

“He’s tough,” Hunter said. “You’re the one who brought up having kids, so consider this practice for that.”

Fitz stuck his tongue out at him and Hunter retaliated by poking him in the side.

“Would you want to adopt or have a surrogate?” Hunter asked.

“Adopt, I think. Daisy told me about the orphanages and foster homes she went through, and if I could prevent a couple kids from that, I absolutely would.”

Hunter nodded his agreement.

“Although,” Fitz said, and paused, “I keep picturing, like, a little girl with your eyes, and that might kill me. Can you imagine? Your biological children would be gorgeous.”

“As would yours, with those curls and big blue eyes? The world doesn’t stand a chance.”

Fitz kissed him sweetly. 

“Why do you do that?” Andy asked, and he was staring at them when Hunter looked at him.

“Oh,” Hunter said, and looked at Fitz. “Well Uncle Leo and I love each other, just like your mum and dad do. Kissing is how people who love each other show that they do.”

Andy continued to stare at Fitz and Hunter.

“Can I kiss someone?” Andy asked.

“You should ask first,” Hunter said. “You can’t kiss just anyone. See, Fitz and I –  _ Uncle Leo _ and I are married, so we’re allowed to kiss each other. Just like Mummy and Daddy. But you should always ask. Watch. Leo?”

“Yes, Lance?”

“May I kiss your cheek?”

“You may. Thank you for asking.”

Hunter leaned in and kissed Fitz’s cheek softly, lingering for a moment in his space.

“Okay! May I kiss your cheek” Andy asked.

“You may, Andy. Thank  _ you  _ for asking, too.”

He leaned down as Andy ran to him, and let Andy leave an open-minded kiss against his cheek above his beard.

“Love you, Uncle Lance.”

The way he said Uncle Lance warmed his heart, the Uncle and Lance running together like  _ UncLance _ .

“Love you, Andy.”

Andy turned to Fitz next with a sweet smile and said, “love you, Uncle Leo.”

_ UncLeo _ .

“Love you too, Andy.”

Andy, satisfied, turned and went back to where he was playing with cars. 

“You handled that so well, baby,” Fitz said, hearts in his eyes. “You’ll make a great dad someday.”

“I hope so.”

“No, I know. You will be.”

“How can you be so sure? That scared the hell out of me. I can’t imagine how it might be when we’re solely responsible for raising good respectful human beings. How can you be so sure that I won’t fuck it up?”

Fitz took his hand and pulled him closer.

“Darling,” Fitz said. “You are your mother’s son, not your father’s. Despite what you’ve been through, you are a good, honest, loving man, and I love you so much.”

“I wish you could meet my mum,” Hunter said, watching Andy dig through the bag he’d brought with him full of toys and books. “She would have loved him, Leo.”

Fitz smiled at him and squeezed his hand. 

“I’ll certainly have to bring you to Scotland first thing when we get back.”

They oscillated wildly between acting like the future didn’t exist and like it was a certainty the team would arrive the next day. They had long lists of things they would do  _ when  _ they got back to their time, everything from make out in public and get married surrounded by their friends and family to get tacos from a taco truck in the city. They also had long lists for  _ when _ they stayed in 1968, 1969, and beyond. They wanted to open a greenhouse and plant nursery for Marietta and the surrounding areas, and build on the cabin so they might be able to have guests, or kids someday. Fitz wanted to see the moon landing, and Hunter wanted to march for civil rights.

On good days,  _ when _ sounded hopeful.

On bad days,  _ if  _ sounded spiteful.

“I’m not eating haggis, no matter how much I love you.”

“We’ll see,” Fitz said. “I can withhold certain acts to get my way.”

“Certain acts?” Hunter questioned, confused.

Fitz leaned in even closer to put his lips directly on Hunter’s ear and said low so only Hunter would hear, “see how steadfast you are when I won’t fuck you.”

“Leopold,” Hunter said quietly.

“My cock won’t go anywhere near you,” Fitz teased. 

“Why are you like this?”

Andy piped up with, “Uncle Lance, look! Look what I’m doing!”

Andy was having the truck in his hand jump over a long line of toy cars he’d set up along the floor, making it flip midair while Andy cheered.

“That’s cool, bud,” Hunter said. “What else can you do?”

Andy showed him tricks and flips that the car could do and Hunter had to ignore the way Fitz’s hand stroked up and down his back, dipping lower with each pass.

“Uncle Lance, come here.”

“What do you say? That doesn’t sound polite.”

“Please come here,” Andy repeated.

“That’s much better, thank you.”

Hunter stepped away from Fitz’s hand and crossed to where Andy was playing. They played for a while, crashing and flipping the cars, Andy insisting they make the noises.

“Okay, bud, it’s getting to be dinnertime. So, I’m going to leave Mr. Thunderbird here idling in case anyone wants to jump in.”

He said it to Andy, but looked at Fitz. 

“Subtle,” Fitz said.

Hunter stood, his knees aching. Being over forty years old now was not treating him kindly, his joints starting to ache more often.

“Macaroni and cheese okay with everyone?”

“Yeah!” Andy said excitedly. Fitz took Hunter’s seat while Hunter started dinner, watching them play as he went. “I love macaroni and cheese.”

“Me too,” Fitz replied. “Is macaroni and cheese your favorite?”

“No,” Andy said. 

“What is?”

“Mmmm, pizza.”

“Pizza is very good. I cannot blame you for that.”

They raced their cars up and down the floor, circling around the line of cars, Fitz intentionally lagging behind Andy while Hunter finished up dinner. It was stunningly domestic, and Hunter had to swallow against a lump of tears that formed in his throat unexpectedly. He had become more and more sentimental over the years, but this was ridiculous. He dished out dinner to avoid thinking about how lucky he was, how in love he was, how incredibly bizarre it was that a soldier and a mercenary like him could have a little house and a husband and a kid named after him. It didn’t make sense.

“Can we go outside after dinner?” Andy asked.

“Sorry, bud, it’s too cold outside, and you don’t have your snow pants!” Hunter said. Andy pouted, but went back to his dinner without arguing. 

After dinner, Hunter set up a blanket and pillow mountain on the couch and let Andy snuggle in for TV time. Fitz helped Hunter clean up the kitchen while Andy played with his cars sleepily in his pile of blankets.

“Did you and Bobbi plan for kids?” Fitz asked drying a plate that Hunter had washed. 

“We talked about it once, right after we got married, but it was mostly fantasy.”

Fitz nodded.

“You and Bobbi’s children would be stunning,” Fitz said. “What changed?”

“Bobbi and I weren’t mature enough to be parents, for sure. We were fine and petrol, waiting to meet and explode. We kept tearing each other apart, we couldn’t and wouldn’t bring a baby into that. And beyond that, I guess, Bobbi didn’t want to be pregnant ever.”

“That would do it, yeah.”

“Our kids would be absolute knock-outs, though.”

Fitz laughed and put the plate away.

“I’ve never had a relationship like this,” he said then. “Ever. I’ve obviously never been married before, but before you, there was no one I thought about like that, not seriously.”

“Jemma?” Hunter asked.

“I love Jemma, sure, but we weren’t ever together like that. She’s my best friend, but that’s all. Well, we apparently had a daughter in the future, but it was the end of the world, so that doesn’t super count.”

“Learning you had a daughter with Jemma didn’t spark some hope?” Hunter asked.

He wasn’t insecure about Fitz choosing him, or loving Jemma. Fitz had proven that he loved him and didn’t want anything else. Besides, Hunter still loved Bobbi so of course, he understood. 

“Maybe a little,” Fitz said. “But I trust Jemma and respect her choices. She’d told me that she didn’t love me the same way and she didn’t want me waiting around hoping she’d change her mind. So, I moved on, and met you. Meeting you really helped.”

Hunter couldn’t help his smile.

“I wonder what our daughter was like sometimes, especially knowing Deke. I’d like to have met her, but she’ll never be born in this timeline.”

There was a sadness in Fitz’s eyes that Hunter would never understand. He wasn’t sure that anyone could, except Jemma Simmons.

“I’m sure she was brilliant, and kind, and gorgeous.”

“Thanks,” Fitz said. “I don’t even know her name.”

“You can ask Deke when we get back, get to know her through getting to know him.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Do you know he calls me Bobo?”

“You’ve mentioned it before. It’s cute. That short for Turbo?”

Fitz stopped and stared off.

“I hadn’t thought of it like that before. Maybe. Deke told Jemma  it's what I wanted to be called.”

“That’s adorable.”

“I feel bad for the way I treated him, especially now when I’m away from everyone, and everything. He’s my family and I should have been kinder. He grew up in a dangerous place that you and I could never understand, and learned to survive just by his own ingenuity. He never got a proper childhood, never got to play outside with the other kids and toss a ball around, never got to be normal, and now, he’s a SHIELD agent risking his life when he should be, I don’t know, exploring life and falling in love and – fuck, I think I actually care about Deke.”

Hunter laughed.

“He is quite lovely,” he replied.

Fitz made a face at him and said, “you cannot hit on my grandson.”

“I won’t. He’s technically my grandson now too, Mr. Fitz-Hunter.”

“Oh, shit, that’s right! He is. You have a step-grandson.”

“I refuse to be called anything like Bobo,” Hunter said, passing Fitz the next dish. “I’m Grandpa or nothing at all.”

“Oh, no. I’m  going to come up with a ridiculous name for you and all of our kids and grandkids will call you it and you’ll deal with it.”

“No,” Hunter protested. 

“Pawpaw,” Fitz offered, and Hunter wrinkled his nose at him. “ Grampy . The Big Paw. Oh!  _ Peepaw _ !”

“I will divorce you.”

Fitz grinned and kissed Hunter’s jaw.

“You won’t but I appreciate the attempt, love.”

Hunter made general grumbling noises, even as he nuzzled into Fitz’s neck.

“We’ll figure it out, baby,” Fitz said, “we’ve got the time.”

After they’d finished the dishes, Hunter checked on Andy who had fallen asleep with the toy Thunderbird still in his hand, mouth open a little.

“Come here,” Fitz said, and he towed Hunter away from the couch and into the kitchen. He wrapped Hunter in a hug, and let Hunter fall into him against the counter. “This is always nice. This is my favorite part of being married to you, and having a house with you.”

“Me too,” Hunter muttered. “I love you.” 

Fitz squeezed his shoulders and nuzzled into his collar. 

“I love you. Everything, everything we’ve built here, everything we’ve managed to achieve, I love you with everything I am, everything I have, and I always will.”

* * *

When Paul carried a sleeping Andy out of the house, the bag of toys and supplies on his shoulder, small compared to his large size, he stopped by Hunter in the kitchen. 

“Thank you,” he said, and there was a happy glow of contentment that Hunter knew only came after sex.

“No problem, man. Andy was great, so anytime you and the missus need alone time, we’re here.”

“I will keep that in mind,” Paul said with a laugh, and he carried Andy outside to the waiting car. 

* * *

In the spring, as soon as the snow melted and gave way to soft, young green grass, they got back to work. On a Tuesday morning, Hunter let himself into the kitchen of the farmhouse early, and set Ida’s present on the table before heading for the bookshelves stuffed with cookbooks and notebooks and novels she’d been reading in the kitchen. There were knock knacks and picture frames dotting the shelves. It was one of the most Ida things in the house. That’s where the wedding photo sat, Fitz, Ida, and Hunter framed under the archway, the sunflowers on fire with the sunset behind them. It was one of Hunter’s personal favorites.

There was a noise, drawing Hunter’s attention away from the bookshelf. Ida shouldn’t be up yet. But the footsteps down the stairs were too heavy, too  stumbly , unsure as if on unfamiliar territory. 

“Oh, Lance!”  Mayor  Richard Williams said, coming to a stop in the doorway, wearing just a pair of underwear slung low on his hips . There was a fresh hickey on his collarbone. Good for Ida, Hunter thought to himself.

“Well, hello, Mayor Williams,” Hunter said, casually pulling a book from the shelf to look through. “Fancy seeing you here. And just so much of you.”

Richard’s hands came up, one covering the outline of his dick in his underwear and the other over his nipples. He was tall, and muscled, built like a lorry. It made sense that Ida fancied him, having seen photos of John Featherstone around the house. She had a type.

“What are you doing here?”

“Stealing,” Hunter replied easily. “It’s Ida’s birthday, and I was going to surprise her with a nice breakfast and let her take the day off.”

He flipped to Ida’s  dogeared pancake recipe.

“Her birthday?” Richard asked, voice a croak.

“Of course,” Hunter said, and looked him over. “Looks like you already gave her a present, though.”

Richard blushed, and Hunter could see that the flush continued across his cheeks and down to his chest. Fitz flushed like that, it was adorable.

“I won’t say anything to anyone,” Hunter assured him. “I don’t care what you two get up to.”

He left the cookbook open on the counter and moved around the kitchen to grab the ingredients. 

“Why are you so calm about this?”

“I suspected it was going to happen eventually. Leo and I have had a running bet about it, personally.”

Richard shuffled from foot to foot.

“Before she wakes up, though, and is around to prevent this, I want you to know that I have seen war, and death, and have done things that you will never even begin to comprehend. If you hurt Ida in anyway, I will absolutely bury you in the field and let you feed the future of Featherstone Farm, do you understand?”

Richard’s eyebrows lifted, and he frowned.

“Ida gave us another chance at life, at being normal, and I won’t let you hurt her. She’s the best person I’ve met, and if you’re not going to be good for her, and good to her, you should leave.”

Hunter kept his voice even, and his face neutral. He wondered if this is what it would feel like when Bobbi moved on, worry for her heart that he’d had for so long, happiness that she had someone who distracted her and loved her. He’d hurt Bobbi so much, over things that didn’t matter and he’d forgotten, as she had hurt him in return, so often that they were good at working around the wounds, but the day Bobbi fell in love with someone else, that would be a hurt he wasn’t sure he knew how to handle. 

Ida wasn’t Bobbi, though.

Richard wasn’t sleeping with Hunter’s ex-wife.

Still, Ida was one of Hunter’s closest friends. He told her everything at this point, except the obvious points about him being from the future. It was hard not to trust the woman who officiated your very illegal wedding and bought you a house to have very illegal sex with your partner in.

“Understood,” Richard said.

“Okay, good. I’m going to start breakfast, then. If you want to go put your clothes back on, you can help.”

Hunter turned his back and started breakfast. Richard trailed back upstairs, and Hunter couldn’t wait to tell Fitz. He almost reached for the phone to call their cabin, but he didn’t want Ida or Richard to come back as  he was gossiping. He didn’t need that reputation. 

He’d certainly be telling him that as soon as he could, though, because even though he didn’t need that reputation, he was a gossip at heart. Fitz would be coming over soon for the breakfast anyway, and they were definitely discussing this.

Ida and Richard came down just before Fitz came in through the kitchen side door. He pulled up short and startled a little at Richard’s presence at the table.

“What’s for breakfast?” he asked instead. 

“Oh, Leo, you made it!” Ida said with a grin. “All my boys!”

“Happy birthday, Ida,” Fitz said, coming over to kiss her cheek. “Good to see you, Mayor Williams.”

“Richard, please,” he said. 

“Good to see you, then, Richard,” Fitz said.

Richard grinned.

Hunter passed the remainder of his second cup of coffee over to Fitz, just the way Fitz liked, and smiled at him as secretly as he could. He was unused to having to hide in the farmhouse, and ached to kiss Fitz or even run his fingers over his skin. 

They had a good breakfast of bacon, fluffy pancakes, and coffee, over a warm conversation. Fitz was startlingly welcoming to Richard, and Ida beamed at him over it. 

Maybe Richard could be a part of their family.

Ida certainly wouldn’t complain. 

If he didn’t hurt her or fuck this up in some way, Hunter wouldn’t complain either, just to see Ida happy.

* * *

The Flower Festival was, as always, a complete clusterfuck that Hunter enjoyed more than most things. He won an award for his roses, and he was pretty sure his major competition, the  Windsors , were starting to suspect he was either a) sleeping with the judges or b) using some kind of secret English technology. He wasn’t. He just loved his plants, and chatted away at them, and gave them all the care they needed.

“Hey,” Fitz said at the end of the first day, the festival emptied out to just the vendors. He caught Hunter’s wrist and dragged him behind a truck to kiss him. “I’ve been dying to do that for hours.”

“You’re getting bold, mister.”

“Can’t help it. You’re gorgeous, and I am weak-willed.”

“Well, I’m certainly not complaining.”

At the end of the weekend, they were unpacking the truck back at the farmhouse. Mayor Williams, or Richard as he insisted on being called, had come back with Hunter grinned at Fitz, grabbing the box from the back of the truck.

“I’m going to take this inside and get it unpacked.”

“Hurry back, love,” Fitz winked.

Hunter carried the box up onto the side porch, but stopped as he heard a familiar voice he wasn’t expecting to hear coming from the kitchen. 

“Richard, what are you so upset about?” Ida asked, her voice just as gentle as Hunter had always heard it but he could also hear how worried she was.

“Did you know?” Richard snapped.

“Did I know about what? You’re going to have to be more specific than that.”

“That your employees – those men you let into your  _ home _ are, are –”

“Don’t finish that sentence, Richard,” Ida said. “If you value our relationship, you will not finish that sentence without thinking hard.”

Hunter shouldn’t be listening, but he was frozen in place, the box of dishes in his arms still.

“You did know.”

“Of course, I know! Those boys slept under my roof for a year, you think I’m stupid?”

“How could you –”

“ _ How could I _ ?” she asked loudly. “Those boys are hard-workers. They’re smart, and kind, and loyal. They are good men, men who have gone to war and fought at each other’s sides, and when they came here, they wanted a place to stay and a place to heal. They saved my farm and gave me a reason to keep going. They have done absolutely nothing to deserve this type of reaction.”

“It’s unnatural,” he said, but there lacked a certain conviction Hunter was used to.

“So is automobiles and air conditioning, but you still like those!”

Hunter couldn’t help his smile, Ida’s fierce defense a balm on all of his worries. 

“That’s not the same thing,” he tried to explain.

“No, you’re right, because Lance and Leo are human beings. They are good and loving, and it does not make them wrong or unnatural because they love each other.”

There was a pause, and then a  thunk as Ida dropped something on the table.

“What is unnatural is your judgement, and your bigotry. I will pray that the Lord grants you the grace to see past these demons of yours.”

“Ida,” Richard started to say.

“Richard, I care about you, and I value your friendship and your companionship. You are a decent man, and you can unlearn this nonsense reaction. If you want to be with me, and build something here, you’ll try and more importantly, you won’t tell anyone what you saw.”

“I won’t,” he agreed.

“Good. I have to take these upstairs. See yourself out.”

Hunter waited a moment to see if Richard would come out, but when he didn’t, he stepped into the house and looked at Richard standing alone at the kitchen table.

“Hello, how’s it going, Mayor?” Hunter asked cheerily. “How was your festival?”

The Mayor blinked at him.

“ I have to find a place for another ribbon in my house for the rose  prize . But I swear I am going to win that pumpkin prize  this year,” Hunter continued, determined to be as pleasant as possible. “I’m determined. I don’t know how the  Jamesons do it every year but I am extremely interested in that ribbon. It’s a point of pride by now.”

He set his box down on the counter.

“Richard?” he said when the Mayor made no more to respond or to leave. “You alright, mate?”

“Those men, in the grocery parking lot,” Richard asked, trailing off.

“What about them?”

“Were they threatening you because you’re –” 

He didn’t continue, his voice drying in his throat.

“Yes,” Hunter said firmly. “They suspected Leo and I were, and are, as they lovingly put it,  _ little fag friends _ . And they didn’t like that.”

He unloaded the box. The faster they were done unloading, the faster he could get Fitz home and alone.

“So, you and Leo are,” he said, trailing off again.

“Yes, we are. We’re together. I love him.”

“How?”

“How do I love him? How do you love anyone? He’s sweet, and kind, and the most intelligent person I’ve ever met, and his eyes are so blue, it’s like staring into the endless sky, not a cloud in sight.”

“But he’s a man.”

“I know that.”

“I don’t understand.”

Richard sank into a chair, eyebrows furrowing.

“I fancy blokes equally to birds. It doesn’t matter to me what’s going on in their trousers.”

“If you like women, why would you choose this? It’d be easier, safer for you both.”

Hunter thought about how to phrase his answer, and replied after a minute, “it’s not about easy. When I wake up in the morning, all I want is to see him there next to me. I want to look across the farm and see him working. There’s no one else for me, because while I do fancy both equally, there’s no one I love more than Leo Fitz.”

Richard didn’t react.

“Okay, think of it like this. You’re into women, could have any woman in the world, but you chose Ida to be with, not because it’s easy or convenient, but because you like her. You might even love her. And because you love her, no one woman matters to you. You could romance and sleep around with the whole town, no one could stop you, but you love Ida, you’re faithful to her. That’s why I choose Fitz, not because it’d be easier to marry a woman, but because there is no choice for me. It’s Fitz all the way, for the rest of my life.”

Richard studied him.

“That makes sense,” he replied finally. “I don’t know if I’ll ever fully understand, but you are a good person, both of you, and I’m sorry for what you overheard.”

Hunter nodded.

“Thank you, but even people who aren’t quote unquote  _ good _ deserve your respect.”

Richard’s face twisted.

“I don’t think I’m capable of that.”

“This have anything to do with the rumors that your wife has a lesbian lover in New York City and took your child with her?”

He recoiled, and Hunter almost felt bad.

“How’d you hear about that?”

“Fitz and I spend a lot of time at the market listening to town gossip,” Hunter replied. “Is it true?”

“Does it matter?”

Hunter shrugged.

“If it’s making you hard and bitter when I know you to be kind and forgiving, kind of. What I heard was that she left you, and took your child with her. How much of that is actual truth?”

“She asked me to leave,” Richard said, voice snappish in a way he hadn’t heard it before, but he sighed. “But yes, she moved to New York with our daughter and moved in with a friend of hers.”

“A friend,” Hunter said slowly. “Just gals being pals, right?”

The mayor did not look amused, but replied, “Gail is in love with her partner, Tina, and they are raising my daughter together in New York. I talk to Diane every Sunday. She’s twelve years old.”

“Gail and Tina are not bad people for loving each other, and Gail isn’t a bad person for choosing Tina over you. I’m sorry you’re so far from your daughter, and I wish you could see her, but Gail and Tina, they deserve your respect just as much as Fitz and I do. Same situation.”

“No, you – not the same.”

Hunter heard Ida moving around upstairs, and watched with joy as Richard’s eyes nervously tracked her movement across the ceiling.

“I was married before I met Leo, you know. We didn’t work out, and we didn’t have any children, but I chose Fitz over reconciling with my ex-wife. Same situation. You can grieve your life, your marriage, your wife, but they deserve to be treated with respect because they are still human beings. They are not beneath you.”

Richard’s whole face was furrowed, and Hunter didn’t interrupt his thoughts. Hunter had been fighting for this, fighting against the idea that he was somehow less than human since he got out of the army. He regretted waiting  somedays , Daniel’s bruised face and permanent limp burning hot and humiliating. He let himself be flamboyant, flirt with boys, make sex jokes as equally about men as with women. He made his sexuality known, and painted himself with the target so he could fight anyone who had a problem with him. 

Or, he had before when it wasn’t the past everywhere around him.

His life didn’t make sense.

“May I ask how you knew about Leo and I?” Hunter asked.

“Oh, I saw, I saw you and, and Leo, behind a truck. He –” Richard trailed off.

“He kissed me.”

Richard swallowed audibly and nodded. Hunter let the moment pass. 

“Hunter, are you in here, love?” Fitz called, peeking into the kitchen screen door. “Oh! Mayor!”

Hunter watched Fitz step into the kitchen, face starting to go white as he realized what he’d said in front of someone not in the know.

“It’s fine, love. He knows about us now,” Hunter said, soothing him automatically. “What’s up?”

“He – okay, I’ve finishing unpacking the truck. Do you need help in here?”

“I just have this box to unload and I’ll be done.”

“Need a hand, then?”

“Gladly,” Hunter said, and bit back his comment about always needing Fitz’s hands. “I need to take the world’s longest nap. Like, somewhere between twenty-four hours and twelve days.”

“I think that’s a coma at that point, and they’re not as fun as they sound.”

Hunter nodded, knew that Fitz had been in a coma for nine days before they’d met, dropped in the ocean and surviving anyway. There was one thing that Fitz did regardless, even when he died, and that was that he survived.

“Point stands at least, I want to sleep before I have to come back and clean up the kitchen.”

“Just no comas, yeah?”

“No comas, I promise.”

Ida started down the stairs, and Hunter looked at Richard just in time for him to stand up out of the chair quickly.

“I have to go.”

Hunter followed his movements with his eyes out of the kitchen and across the porch. 

“What was that about?” Fitz asked.

“I don’t know, he found out we’re together when you kissed me in public, and had an argument with Ida about it. She told him to fix his fucking attitude, essentially, and banished him from the house.”

“I did not banish him, Lance,” Ida said. “Did he fix his attitude, though?”

“About me and Leo, sure. About his past, not so much.”

“Well, one thing at a time.”

She smiled at them.

“You alright?” she asked Lance. “I know you were outside.”

“I can handle it,” he replied. “I’m a tough boy.”

“That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”

“No, that’s true.”

He took out another dish from his box and set it in the sink. Fitz worked beside him, leaning in to kiss his cheek lovingly before turning back to the box. 

“I will always defend you, sugar,” Ida said, leaning against the counter next to Hunter. “You know that, right? I don’t want to embarrass you, or make you uncomfortable with my response – I know I’m a lot sometimes – but I will always be on your side.”

“I know, Ida. I’m very grateful for what you did, standing up for us, standing by us. It’s not easy when the whole world despises you, but it’s certainly better with someone like you on our team, and it always will be.”

* * *

Spring gave way to summer.

“This time next year, we’re going to see man land on the moon,” Fitz said, sitting on the blanket Hunter had spread on their lawn for them to stargaze for their date night. “Can you imagine what that’ll be like?” 

“You’ve seen the moon landing before, love,” Hunter said.

“Not like this!”

“What do you mean, not like this?”

“This is happening live, as I’m watching it. It’s not a recording that we’ll watch in the future. We’re living history right now. Right now, NASA is building a rocket which will take the astronauts to space and Neil Armstrong is going to step on the moon, and say those iconic words, but right now, that hasn’t happened!”

Hunter laughed.

“Okay, sure.”

“Don’t you okay, sure me,” Fitz said, poking Hunter in the ribs. 

“You’ve been on other planets, though. You yourself have been to more places than NASA and Neil Armstrong could even imagine in 1968. You are a piece of living history.”

Fitz rolled his eyes. 

“You want to go to the civil rights marches,” he retorted. “That’s history in motion there, but you still want to go. You are the dream of what the Stonewall Riots and the first pride parades were fighting for, an openly queer, happily married man with the world at his feet.”

“Well, I’m not right now,” Hunter said. “Right now, I’m a slightly less than openly queer man with a happy but illegitimate marriage who is just trying to survive the past.”

“Someday, then,” Fitz said. He didn’t have to roll his eyes that time, Hunter heard it in his voice. 

“Someday,” Hunter agreed. “Whole world before us.”

“Whole universe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is my favorite so far, because of the wedding, and the snowball fight, and watching Andy, plus Richard comes into play a little more. It was just very fun to write. I hope it was just as fun to read.  
> Oh, speaking of writing, this is officially the longest piece of writing I have ever written so far. Previous title was held by my unfinished NaNoWriMo novel, Paint and the Stars (available to beta on betabooks if you're interested lol), and the longest fic I'd ever written was my Teen Wolf sterek fic, It Takes A Village (available on ao3)  
> I can't wait to share Chapter Six, the final chapter with you guys!!! Leave a comment, kudos, bookmark, and share it with your friends! It really helps and makes me feel good :) If you want to talk about this fic, or the current season of AOS, or FitzHunter, you can find me on tumblr as kaytikazoo 
> 
> -K


	6. The Cabin, Year Six

Hunter woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of Cal whimpering in her bed, the house dark, and the windows rattling in their frames.

“Fuck,” he groaned, and pushed him up in bed. Fitz was fast asleep, dead to the world, without a worry on his face. “Lucky bastard.”

He leaned over and kissed Fitz’s shoulder just the same, though. Then, he got out of bed and whistled for Cal to join Fitz on the bed and curl up with him. She tucked herself into his chest and pushed her nose under his hand so his fingers curled into the fur at her neck automatically, anchoring them together.

“Okay, let’s take care of this.”

Out in the living room, a flash of lightning preceded a crash of thunder directly overhead and shook Hunter’s resolve. He almost turned and headed straight for Fitz’s arms.

“Who pissed off Thor?” he asked, and headed to the light switch. He flipped it up and down a couple times, but nothing responded. The power was most definitely out, he discovered, which was less than ideal. His nerves were standing on edge, so he followed his feet and stepped to the stove. He started a kettle of water for tea, and thanked the gods, or whoever, that their stove ran on gas.

He’d always  hated thunderstorms, ever since he was a kid. His dad always told him to soldier up, said he was being weak and a coward. But there was something world-ending in every  storm . Something rattled in his chest with each thunder and lightning strike, and echoed within him long after the storm had passed. When he was young, his mum used to make him a cup of tea and tell him stories until he’d settled down.

The kettle let out a little whistle as he set a tea bag in his favorite mug, one that Fitz had found in the secondhand shop for him the summer before. He poured the water and watched how the water tinted with the teabag. 

“Running away?” Fitz said from the doorway of the bedroom, eyes half-lidded as he fought to stay awake in the dark.

“Storm woke me up,” Hunter said, and then flinched as another crack of thunder shook the world.

“I did not know that you are afraid of thunderstorms,” Fitz said, stumbling sleepily to the kitchen table. Hunter smiled, absolutely endeared to his husband as he fell gracelessly into the chair. 

“Yeah,” Hunter said, bobbing the teabag in the water and then set to grab the milk and cinnamon. 

There was a part of him that wanted to hide, and ignore the question. He was ashamed, at least a little, that he could face war and death without a flinch but something as common and natural as a storm left him shaken. Of course, he knew that it was his father’s voice lingering in him. He could allow himself to be vulnerable for Fitz.

“Have been since I was a kid. Dad used to call me a sissy for it.”

“Yes, well, as established, your dad sucks. Come sit.”

Fitz pat the table near him and Hunter brought the tea over, drawn to him like a magnet.

“You’re drinking tea in the middle of the night?” Fitz said as Hunter set the mug down. “What’s with that?”

“Something I got from Mum. She always said there wasn’t anything a good  cuppa and a story couldn’t fix.”

He took a sip and smiled, the cinnamon warm and the tea creamy.

“Your mum is amazing.”

“Yeah, she was.”

Hunter pushed the cup towards Fitz and Fitz took a sip.

“I would – you've never made me a cup of tea like that. That from your mum too ? ”

“It is. She always liked to add a dash of cinnamon into her tea. She never went full chai, but she did like a hint of cinnamon, said it was cozy.”

“Your mum would’ve loved mine. Mum always makes coffee cake with extra cinnamon because she says it kept her warm.”

Another round of thunder rolled overhead, and Hunter gripped the table.

“Do you want to go lay down with me? We can cuddle, you can lay on top of me, and I’ll keep you safe.”

“Yeah,” Hunter said. “After this.”

“Can I share?”

Hunter laughed and nodded. They drank their shared tea in silence, comfortable with each other.

“Oh, hey, happy anniversary, love,” Hunter said, looking up at the clock over the entryway. It was just before two in the morning on their anniversary of landing in Iowa. 

“Is it?” Fitz looked up at the clock, mug halfway to his mouth, before he stopped and smiled. “It is. Happy anniversary.”

When the tea had been drained, just the cinnamon ring left around the mug's edge, Fitz took the empty mug to the sink, and then crossed the kitchen back to him. He stopped by Hunter’s chair and took his hand.

“Come along, love. Let me take care of you.”

Hunter followed.

* * *

When Hunter woke up later, he was pressed into  Fitz’s side, Fitz cradling him protectively. The storm had subsided, and the power had come back. Fitz was awake and reading a book, the edge of the spine resting lightly on Hunter’s shoulder. 

“What time is it?” he asked.

Hunter hadn’t fallen asleep for hours, not until the thunder had mostly quieted.

“Almost nine,” Fitz replied.

“Jesus,” Hunter grumbled. “Sorry –”

“Don’t apologize. You don’t control the weather.”

“I can control my fear,” Hunter argued, but trailed off as Fitz dragged fingertips teasingly down his spine. His brain  always went to putty when Fitz touched him like that.

“You don’t have to be strong all of the time, Lance. You can be afraid of things, of storms and snakes, I know you’re afraid of them, don’t do your argue mouth. You are human, you know. I’m here to help you, and love you, and take care of you when you’re scared. I’m not going anywhere, and you can’t push me away.”

“I’m not trying to push you away.”

“I know, but you don’t have to be ashamed for being afraid. Your dad was completely wrong, and you know that he’s wrong. You’re not weak for being afraid. I’ve seen you do amazing things, even when and because you’re afraid. Nothing about you – Lance, I love you, and I promised when we got married that I would take care of you, and that includes when it storms and you’re scared.”

Hunter frowned and Fitz tipped his chin up to kiss him.

“You needed the rest,” Fitz continued, “so I let you sleep.”

“Leo,” Hunter said, voice barely a whisper.

“Do you feel better?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you don’t have to be sorry about anything.”

“I love you,” Hunter said, and let Fitz kiss him again.

“I know,” Fitz replied, echoing his last words before Hunter had let him go to space alone. 

“Fuck off,” Hunter said, but kissed him. He kissed  him slow, sliding his tongue along Fitz’s, touching him all over as thoroughly as he could. Fitz’s skin was warm underneath his hands, wondrously smooth and welcoming, as it always had been. He would never get over this, each time brand new even as he knew intimately every piece of Fitz, every plane and every dip of his body. 

They didn’t often get a chance to lay in bed and sleep in, always helping on the farm and working every day from dawn until dinner. It was good work, and they enjoyed it, but it left them tired at the end of the day, so they didn’t get up to much besides dinner and relaxing. On lighter days, they’d get each other off before bed, but most days, Hunter would fall into bed beside Fitz, and they’d sleep tucked into each other. In the mornings, they had to get up early to start work before it got too hot, especially in the summertime. They didn’t have time to laze around with each other. 

Hunter treasured this more than he could say.  But, of course,  Fitz knew without Hunter  having to say anything. 

* * *

Later, Hunter stepped outside with Cal to let her out, and paused on the front porch, staring out over the yard.

“Leo,” he called.

“What’s up, love?” Fitz asked, coming to the screen door. “Oh.”

The yard was littered with debris, from branches and rocks to roof tiles and siding. Hunter couldn’t breathe for a moment, afraid that a single breath might tear down the rest of their home.

“Jesus,” Hunter whimpered. “A storm did all this? That siding doesn’t even go to our house.”

“Iowa does have tornadoes, remember,” Fitz said softly. “Maybe there was a small one nearby.”

“That’s not terrifying at all.”

Fitz stepped outside and up against Hunter’s side. He took his hand, and they stood together, overlooking the yard.

“We’ve got some work to do,” Fitz said, “but at least our home is intact, and we’re alive, and the storm has passed.”

“After breakfast,” he replied. “You need sustenance, baby.”

Fitz rolled his eyes before heading back inside to start breakfast. Hunter was slowly teaching him to cook, how to be mindful of timing and temperatures, how to mix flavors and textures. Hunter enjoyed cooking for Fitz, though, and didn’t mind being the one to cook at night. He loved the way Fitz’s eyes fluttered closed, unbidden, as he enjoyed his meal. Fitz was not a picky eater, but it still meant the world to Hunter. But Fitz still tried to learn how to cook whenever he could, because in his words, “I’m your partner, I should be able to take care of you too without burning dinner or the house down.”

They had an easy breakfast of eggs, sausage, and toast, and a dessert of making out at the table. After, they headed back out to survey the damage to their yard and home in full.

“Fuck,” Fitz said, dragging a ladder from beside his makeshift lab-shed and setting it against the side of the house. “I think there’s damage to the roof.”

He climbed up easily without fear, and Hunter kept picking up pieces of debris and depositing them in the trash bag by the porch. 

“Like, we need a new roof damage? Or like, it’ll leak the next time it rains damage?”

“ I think just the latter, but I won’t really know until I get in there.”

Hunter groaned and tipped his head back to glare a prayer at Thor.

“I’ll need to grab my tools,” Fitz said and climbed off the  roof out of sight. Hunter kept working, occasionally glancing at Fitz to make sure he hadn’t fallen off silently somehow.

Once he’d cleaned up the yard, he stepped back to check on Fitz again more solidly this time . Paused. Had to remember how to breathe. He was stunning, the sun lighting him like some kind classical art of a Greek god. Sweat glistened along his skin, and his muscles moved tantalizing as he worked, taut and firm. Hunter had never seen anyone as beautiful as Leo Fitz, and he’d never seen Fitz look like a wet dream like that before. Hunter leaned against the car, and watched him work with rapt fascination, patching the damage the storm had done to the roof. He almost called to Fitz to take his shirt off, but he didn’t want to ruin this moment, the sanctity of it.

The things he would do to Fitz on that roof were something straight out of a porno he was sure he’d seen before.

Maybe not on the roof.

Once he stepped off the ladder, maybe, pressed up against the rungs.

“I can feel you staring at me,” Fitz said without looking up from his work. 

“Can’t help it, love. You’re absolutely obscene up there.”

He couldn’t see Fitz’s face from this distance, but he could feel the way he rolled his eyes.

“The muscle, the sweat, the focus,” he continued, undeterred. “You’re every fantasy I ever had as a teenager.”

“Can you keep your thirst to yourself when I’m on a roof?”

“No,” Hunter replied.

“You’re the worst.”

“Not my fault that you’re hot, baby.”

“It is your fault for not keeping it to yourself,” Fitz said. “I know you’re capable.”

“Not on our property, I’m not.”

Fitz lifted his t-shirt and wiped the sweat from his face, exposing his stomach. Hunter’s brain shorted out. He was a simple man, after all, and his husband’s bared skin was one of his favorite sights, especially with the way his skin looked in the sunshine. 

“Can you get me a glass of water,  though ? It’s boiling up here.”

“I’m not coming up onto the roof.”

“Hunter, please.”

“I come up on the roof, I’m not leaving until you’ve come,” Hunter warned.

“You’d fuck me on the roof?” Fitz asked, setting down the tool he’d been using. “That’s unsafe  _ and  _ unsanitary.”

“You fucked me in the greenhouse. How is that any better?”

“One was inside and not a dozen feet in the air, and not covered in germs and bacteria. You don’t know what could’ve been up here on the roof. That’s just a bad idea . ”

“Bad ideas are my specialty.” 

“You sound like a terrible 80s porn star.”

“Not a turn on for you, then?”

“Obviously not.”

Fitz shifted, and just looked at him.

“Will you please get me some water, Lance? You can do whatever you want to me after I’m done, but I need to get this repair done in case another storm comes in.”

“Alright, but I’m holding you to that promise.”

“It’s our anniversary, baby,” Fitz said, leaning towards him with his cutest smile. “I’ll give you anything you want, if you bring me water.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going.”

* * *

For Fitz’s thirty-ninth birthday, they had a party as they always did in Ida’s yard. Ida brought out a cake with three candles, tiny after years of us. They’d have to get new candles for his forties, four long candles to last a decade.

“Last year of your thirties, Leo. What are you going to wish for?” Paul asked, Andy in his lap.

“I’m not sure, I already have everything that I want.”

He had Hunter’s hand in his, fingers threaded together on the picnic table, their thighs pressed together from hip to knee. Even in the late summer heat, Fitz was Hunter’s favorite warmth. 

“That’s sickening,” Randy said. “I hate how cute you two are.”

Fitz laughed.

His laugh was big, and bright, and rocked him against Hunter.

“Us Europeans are just bred cuter,” Hunter said. Ida set the cake down in front of Fitz, the candlelight reflecting in his blue eyes beautifully.

“Now, now, children, let’s sing Leo happy birthday.”

“We don’t have to do that,” Fitz tried to protest, but Ida waved him away. He’d tried every year. It never worked. 

“Happy birthday to you,” Hunter sang with everyone else, leaning in toward Fitz and singing softly in his ear. Fitz nudged at him playfully and hissed at him to stop without any heat, almost lovingly. Fitz blushed and Hunter pressed a lingering kiss into his cheek as the song winded down. “Happy birthday, Leo.”

Fitz leaned in and blew out his candles.

“What did you wish for?”

“Can’t tell you,” Fitz teased. “Then it won’t come true.” 

* * *

Richard invited them to his home for a last hurrah to summer, a barbecue just before Labor Day. Pam, Paul, and Andy were already there when Ida, Fitz, and Hunter arrived. 

“Hello!” Pam said with a big smile. “Glad you guys could make it!”

“Yeah, wouldn’t miss it,” Ida said. 

Randy and Joe were also inside, loading plates of food already from the buffet Richard had set out, made up of veggies, chips, dips, and other barbecue-appropriate appetizers. He’d set out potato salad and tossed salad next to a pickle platter and a pitcher of iced tea. He himself was at the grill, wearing an apron that Hunter half expected to say Kiss the Cook. 

“Welcome!” Richard called. “Come on in, everyone.”

Ida brought a dish of ambrosia to pass, which Hunter and Fitz had agreed to avoid when they’d watched her mix it together. 

“That’s honestly the most disgusting thing I have ever seen,” Hunter had said. “What the fuck is that?”

“It’s ambrosia, shut your mouth.”

“I can’t. It’s too busy being appalled.”

Now, she set it down with the rest of the food, and headed for Richard to kiss his cheek. Hunter and Fitz cooed obnoxiously at them, and she shot them a glare.

“I will disinherit you,” she said without any heat. 

Andy grabbed Hunter’s hand.

“Uncle Lance!” he said. “Mayor Richard has a football; will you play with me?”

“Sure, bud,” he said and let himself be towed into the yard and to where Richard had set up lawn games. Andy picked up a football from the pile, and Hunter had to laugh at himself for expecting what Andy would call a soccer ball. He wasn’t unfamiliar with an American football; he knew how to fit his hand around it and how to throw it. Thankfully, Mack had tried to teach him the wonders and joys of “proper football,” and he’d retained at least enough for a yard game with a four and a half year old.

“I’m  gonna throw this to you, okay? Try to catch it!”

“Okay,” Hunter said, and Andy launched the ball at Hunter with all of his might, the ball twisting end over end until it nearly smacked Hunter in the face as he went to catch it.

Andy shrieked with delight.

“Not with your  _ face _ , Uncle Lance!”

“Oh, is that what I’m doing wrong? How silly of me.”

Andy held up his hands and Hunter resituated the ball in his hands, his fingers over the laces. He tossed the ball without much force, giving Andy plenty of time to ready himself. It still bounced out of his hands and smacked him in the chin. He giggled.

“Oops,” he said, and chased after the ball across the yard.

“You’d make a great dad,” Ida said from the edge of the patio.

“Unless a bunch of people become really cool about a lot of things really fast, unlikely that we’d ever get to be parents,” Hunter replied.

“That’s true,” Joe added. “Randy and I want a family together, but without my sister dying and leaving her children in my care or something morbid like that, we’re out of luck.”

“And kidnapping children is illegal,” Hunter added.

“True,” Joe said. “I’ve made my peace with it. I’m just happy being with Randy.”

“I’m with you there,” Hunter said. “About Leo, though, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Joe echoed.

“You want a family?” Richard asked.

“Of course,” Fitz and Hunter answered, while Joe and Randy made similar assenting noises.

“I’ve never considered that you might want that, same as anyone else.”

Randy laughed, which was a noise that caught Hunter off-guard, because he laughed like the Count from Sesame Street. Hunter always expected him to start counting things around him when he laughed.

“We are people too, mate,” Hunter said. “We meet someone that we like, we fall in love, we want to build a future with them, including marriage, a house, children, retirement.”

“Huh,” was his response, flipping a burger without looking at them. “That makes sense.”

“It does,” Fitz agreed.

Richard hummed, clearly thinking. He was quiet for a while even as the conversation moved on from the lack of rights for gay couples. Hunter watched him, even as he and Andy tossed the ball back and forth, considering Richard’s willingness to listen to them and invite them to his home. His walls weren’t as fortified as he pretended they were.

Hunter picked up Andy as the burgers were down, carrying him under his arm like a sack, sideways as he giggled and cackled. There was something thrilling for a small child to be carried like an object. He set Andy between his parents near the food table, and ruffled his hair.  Andy swatted harmlessly at him, and ducked under his dad’s arm. Fitz reached out and grabbed Hunter’s arm to pull him back. Richard’s yard was fenced in and his house set far from any neighbors, so Fitz kissed him softly. 

“You would be a great dad,” Fitz said again, soft so only Hunter would hear him. “I would love to drag you to the future and surround you with a gaggle of our kids.”

“A whole gaggle, huh?”

“ Mmmhm ,” Fitz said, bumping his nose against Hunter’s cheek “We’re  going to need a very large house.”

“I’ve got enough money saved to get you a  castle in Scotland, wherever you want,” Hunter said.

“Mercenary work paid that well?”

“ Mmmhm .”

Fitz grinned at him.

“I do love being a trophy husband.”

“I love to show you off,” Hunter said. “Let’s get some food so I have the strength to hoist you over my head like a true prize.”

Fitz rolled his eyes playfully at him, and nudged him gently in the side.

“Come here and kiss me, love.”

Gladly, Hunter kissed Fitz, holding his hip in one hand while the other found his to lace their fingers together.

“You are grossly cute,” Randy said from nearby.

“Thanks,” Fitz said, and kissed Hunter’s cheek obnoxiously.

“Gross,” Hunter said.

“Yeah, gross,” Andy echoed. “You didn’t ask to kiss Uncle Lance first!”

“Oh, right, I’m sorry, Lance. May I kiss your cheek?”

“You may, Leo,” Hunter said. “Good job remembering consent, Andy.”

Fitz pressed another kiss, gentler and sweeter than before, loving.

“You taught him that?” Pam asked them.

“Yeah, well, he asked us why we kissed, and we explained it's because we love each other, and he asked if he could kiss anyone, so we told him only if he asked and they said yes.”

“That’s very smart,” Pam said. “A good way to teach him not to touch other children. Some parents at his pre-school could learn a thing from you.”

Hunter smiled, warm on the inside from the compliment. 

“Respecting other is a good skill, as well as knowing where your own boundaries are,” Hunter said. “It’s a good social skill to know when to say no and how to say no.”

Fitz nodded his agreement.

“Thank you. I hadn’t thought of that, but we’ll definitely be teaching him that now.”

Later, after they’d eaten, Paul, Randy, and Joe were tossing a ball around while Andy followed the ball from person to person, as if he might catch it at any point. Hunter was pushing a lump of ambrosia around his plate, Ida having plopped it on his plate against his will and then she’d done the same to Fitz. Fitz had managed to feed some to Andy before he’d taken off to play. Hunter was tempted to push his onto Fitz’s plate but Fitz was watching him carefully as if he knew what Hunter was thinking.

“Hey,” Pam said, catching Hunter’s eye. “I’m sorry for how I used to think about you both. You’ve never been anything but good to us, and Andy loves you. I didn’t understand how you could choose each other and choose this life, but I suppose it’s not a choice and I suppose love isn’t something you understand.”

“Yeah,” Richard said. “I’ll second that. I’m sorry for what I said.”

“Thank you,” Hunter said. “We appreciate it, and your willingness to listen and understand, even if it takes time. Small steps and all that.”

* * *

Hunter made it his mission to grow the winning pumpkin that year, and spent most of August researching and perfecting his plan. He planted pumpkins in the garden at Ida’s as well as in his own garden out back of the cabin. 

“I swear you’re one second away from chanting over the garden to ask the pumpkin god to bless this harvest,” Fitz joked as Hunter fussed over the garden.

“I might, don’t test me,” Hunter replied.

The pumpkins took over the garden out back of the cabin and spilled out onto the yard, curling around the shed like a creeping tentacle. It was delightful. Fitz said they could reenact Little Shop of Horrors in their backyard. Hunter pointed out that it would just be enacting  since  Little Shop of Horrors didn’t exist yet. That led to a discussion of how to get rich by stealing ideas that didn’t exist yet, like founding Apple or writing Hamilton decades before the idea ever came to their creators. 

“You could probably take over the world with all that you know,” Hunter said.

“I don’t want the world,” Fitz said. “The Doctor wanted the world, would do anything to get it. I don’t want to be him, ever.”

“You’re not.”

Fitz nodded.

“I just want this,” Fitz said, gesturing to their plot of land, their home, their garden,  _ them. _

“Me too.”

“You also want to win that pumpkin contest.”

“That was implied.”

* * *

“I think I have a winner,” Hunter said, staring at the garden a week before the Fall Festival. “I can’t wait to see the look on Jameson’s face when I finally beat him. It’ll be so satisfying.”

“Your humble winning attitude is so endearing,” Fitz replied. “Really good color on you.”

“ Shh . I’m celebrating with myself.”

“If you jerk off to Jameson losing, I’m divorcing you.”

Hunter reeled Fitz in and said, “only person I jerk off to is you, baby. You’re it for me, and for my cock.”

“How flattering.”

Hunter blew a raspberry into Fitz’s neck, to which Fitz shrieked and shoved him away. Hunter went, cackling.

* * *

“Do you know what today is?” Fitz said, stepping up and wrapping his arms around Hunter’s waist as he watered the garden slowly to not drown them. 

“Mmm, no, what is it?”

Fitz kissed his neck slowly, mouth open, letting his tongue flick out against his skin.

“Lance,” he warned slowly. 

“What? What day is it?”

“Please tell me you’re joking,” Fitz said.

Hunter pressed back into Fitz and said softly, “how could I forget the day I married you?”

Fitz made a pleased noise and nipped his shoulder.

“Come inside,” Fitz muttered. “I want you naked.”

“Maybe I want  _ you _ naked.”

“That’s fine, as long as you’re naked with me.”

“That could be arranged,” Hunter said. He turned off the hose and tossed it towards the cabin before turning in Fitz’s arms. “I have an idea.”

He dropped his hands down to the back of Fitz’s thighs, and hoisted him up, wrapping his legs around his waist. Fitz made a surprised noise but slid his arms around his neck and kissed him. 

“I love when you hold me like this.”

Hunter walked him towards the house and bumped into the back door on accident. He chuckled into the kiss and licked into his mouth happily. 

“Inside,” Fitz said. “Please. I need you to fuck me, baby.”

Fitz reached over and opened the door for them, sliding his hands up into Hunter’s hair. Hunter carried Fitz into the cabin, and used his foot to close the door behind them, heading for the bedroom. Cal lifted her head from where she was laying on the kitchen floor, watching them, but laid her head back down when she realized they weren’t doing anything fun for her. 

Hunter dumped Fitz on the bed unceremoniously and followed him, covering him with his body. Fitz whined into his mouth, and slid his hands up Hunter’s sides underneath his shirt. 

“Lance,” Fitz said. “Clothes. Naked. Please.”

Hunter rolled his hips into Fitz’s specifically to hear the way Fitz’s words trailed off into a moan. He loved that.

God, he loved that. He loved everything about Fitz, about the way he lifted his hips to meet Hunter’s, hungrily chasing the pleasure of their cocks rubbing together. Fitz gripped his sides and pulled him down into him again.

“Lance,” he said again, more firmly. “Take your fucking clothes off.”

“Yes, husband,” Hunter said, kissing his jaw sloppily and without any precision, but he sat back to pull his shirt up and over his head. Fitz sighed and trailed fingertips over his stomach.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” Fitz said. “I’ll never stop telling you, but you really are very beautiful. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Hunter shifted and worked on Fitz’s shoes, and then his own, throwing them away towards the closet to be dealt with later. 

“Naked, Lance,” Fitz said.

“I’m working on it, you’re so impatient, which is uncharacteristic.”

“I want you inside of me as soon as possible, that’s why.”

“You’ll get me, don’t worry. I haven’t fucked you in a while, and I want you so goddamn bad.” 

“I know, you’ve become quite the bottom, which surprises me.”

“I like you on top, but I want to give you the present of not having to do the work this time.”

“You could always ride me,” Fitz said casually. “I love watching you on top of me, enjoying yourself.”

“Oh, baby, we’ll get to that.”

“Is that on the list?”

“There’s a long list of things I want to do for our anniversary, and me riding you until you beg me to let you come is definitely on the list.”

“Yeah?”

Hunter nodded as he leaned in and pushed Fitz’s shirt up to kiss his stomach. 

“I love you,” Fitz said. “Goddamn, I love you.”

He dragged his tongue up along Fitz’s skin, feeling the way his stomach quivered with anticipation, pushing his shirt up further and further until it was rucked up under his arms.

“Off,” he said. Fitz sat up just enough to drag his shirt off and threw it away. Hunter kissed over his chest, stopping to flick his tongue over Fitz’s nipples. 

“God, fuck,” Fitz said. 

“Do you know,” Hunter started and stopped, lifting his head to look up at Fitz. The way the afternoon autumn light pouring in through the windows in their cabin lighted him, Hunter had to stop to remember the English language. The blue of his eyes was so vibrant, and his dopey, loving expression so soft that Hunter couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t in love with Fitz, wasn’t in this bed with him. 

“Did I know?” Fitz prompted when Hunter’s sentence didn’t pick back up.

“I – you’re too beautiful to exist.”

Fitz grabbed his hand and traced down his ribs and waist to his hips, letting Hunter’s fingertips glide along the warmth of his skin.

“I’m real.”

“Good, it would be much too weird, even for me, if I did this,” Hunter said, letting his free hand cup the firm line of Fitz’s cock in his jeans. He stroked him through the cloth, slowly while taking one of Fitz’s nipples back into his mouth again. The noises Fitz made were like symphonies to Hunter, listening for the rise and fall of his moans, the way his voice would crescendo when Hunter pressed the heel of his hand into his cock with just the right pressure. They could never live in an apartment. Fitz was much too noisy for that. 

“If I have to ask you to get naked again, I’m going to jerk off without your help, and you don’t even get to watch,” Fitz threatened, but there lacked any heat to it as he keened with Hunter’s touch. 

“It means I have to stop touching you, though.”

“Yes, but if you stop touching me for a minute, you get to have us both naked touching each other, and that’s a much better dynamic.”

Hunter considered that for a moment, and nodded.

“Fair. One minute, then.”

He sat back, and he could see the moment of regret as he withdrew his hands from Fitz, before he reached for his own jeans to unfasten them. Hunter helped drag the jeans off Fitz’s body, delighted to find that Fitz had chosen to forgo underwear that day. His cock was already hard and waiting for Hunter’s attention, bobbing out of his pants. He kissed the tip, unable to help himself. 

“You going to put that mouth to use, baby?” Fitz asked teasingly. He let out a gasp as Hunter sank his teeth, teasingly, into his thigh. “Okay, I deserved that.”

Hunter shucked the rest of his own clothes off, leaving them in a pile he’d most definitely almost slip on later but wanted to get as close to Fitz as possible then so they were  later’s problem. He had a lot of Fitz’s bare skin to touch and kiss and explore all new as if he hadn’t had Fitz slotted between his legs, fucking him deep into the mattress just the day before. It didn’t matter. He’d never get sick of touching him, no matter how often and how long he’d done it before. Every time was new. 

“Can you grab the Vaseline, love?” Hunter asked, stroking his cock while watching Fitz laid out on the bed, looking so tempting. “Open yourself up for me like a good boy?”

Fitz whimpered and reached for the bedside table almost blindly, watching Hunter in return. He popped open the container and scooped the smallest amount out to spread on his fingers. 

“Scooch backwards,” Hunter said, and Fitz obeyed, shifting up the bed so Hunter could kneel between his splayed legs. “You’re so gorgeous.” 

Fitz shifted again so he could reach, stroking around his entrance at first, getting the excess Vaseline onto his skin, and then pressed his first finger into himself. He didn’t take Hunter often, so it was slower going than opening Hunter up. Still, Hunter enjoyed the show personally. 

“Fuck, Lance,” Fitz groaned, tipping his head back as he worked himself open, now up to two fingers, scissoring them to stretch himself. “I can’t wait to feel you inside of me, fucking me open for you.”

“You will, baby,” Hunter promised. “Oh, god, you will.”

Fitz’s hips jerked off the bed with the next thrust of his fingers, and a shaking moan tumbled out of him. 

“ Oooh , baby found his prostate,” Hunter cooed, leaning over him to kiss the center of Fitz’s chest. “You almost ready, sweets?”

“Yes, please, fuck,” Fitz cursed, reaching for him without withdrawing his fingers. “I want you.”

Hunter reached down and touched Fitz’s wrist, stilling his fingers buried all the way inside of him. He caught Fitz’s eyes as he pressed a single finger into Fitz alongside his two, unable to look away from the way Fitz’s mouth fell open and his eyelashes fluttered. That was always what Hunter wanted whenever he fucked Fitz, the ease of his muscles and the trust he put in Hunter. There was nothing more intoxicating than that. 

“I’ve never seen anyone so beautiful, you know,” he said conversationally. Fitz opened to him easily, spreading his own fingers so Hunter’s slipped between them. “And it’s not just because you’re naked, hard, and ready for my cock, either. You’re everything I want in a partner, and a lover, and my best friend.”

Fitz hummed.

“You’re smart, and creative, and brave, and kind, and loyal. You challenge me to be better, and make me want to continue learning. I’ve never been good at school and academia, and no one has ever done that for me. But you, you’ve always been special, different.”

He leaned over Fitz’s hips as he whined, and made sure Fitz was looking as he licked a long, slow stripe up his cock, making sure to drag at Fitz’s entrance to spread him open wider simultaneously.

“Please, Hunter,  _ please _ ,” Fitz huffed out. 

“ You beg so pretty,” Hunter said, but withdrew his finger and tapped Fitz on the wrist to do the same. Using Fitz’s hand, he stroked his own cock, slicking it just enough with the remaining Vaseline. 

“Fuck you,” Fitz said without any heat, squeezing Hunter’s cock lightly where Hunter had his fingers encircling him. “I forget how much of a little shit you are when you’re on top.”

“Me?” Hunter scoffed. “You’re the tease in this relationship, so I don’t think you have any room to talk.”

Even while they talked, Hunter shifted Fitz into a comfortable position, hips supported with a pillow, legs splayed open for him but not wide enough that Fitz would ache in the morning. That wasn’t Hunter’s goal.  Some days , it was, make Fitz feel him long after they had finished, a phantom fuck he’d feel for days. But not that day. He only wanted Fitz to feel good, feel the same pleasure that Fitz was so good at giving him. 

Once Hunter was sure Fitz was in position, he kissed along Fitz’s chest, wet, open kisses against his heated skin.

“Do you want me?” Hunter asked, mouth flush against Fitz’s belly. “Hmmm?”

“Of course, I do,” Fitz said, shifting his hips. Hunter shifted him back and nipped at the edge of his hipbone. “I need you, please. Don’t tease.”

“Yes, love,” he said, and lined himself up at Fitz’s entrance, hovering over him. “You going to be good for me?”

Fitz nodded. Hunter pressed into him slowly, watching every expression on Fitz’s face. It felt so good, Fitz tight and hot around him, but all he could do was focus on Fitz, on the way his mouth fell open, his eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks, the small breath of air he let escape. Once buried inside Fitz fully, he let Fitz have a moment, stroking lightly down his ribs to his waist, feeling the soft skin underneath his hands, teasing at his hipbones. 

“You can move, I won’t break,” Fitz said. 

“I know,” Hunter said. “But that doesn’t mean I want to rush this any. Not often I get you on your back like this for me.”

“That’s because you don’t want it, not that I won’t give it.”

“True. I prefer that. Doesn’t mean I’m not going to enjoy this.”

“Please do.”

Hunter started slow, small, shallow strokes into him. It wasn’t enough for either of them, but they would get to that. Hunter didn’t want to finish too quickly, too delighted and enraptured with how  _ good _ Fitz felt around him. He did want to enjoy this, watch his Fitz, his husband, come undone slowly underneath him. 

“Fuck,” Fitz groaned on a particularly long stroke. “Jesus, Lance.”

“Good?”

“So good.”

Hunter captured his mouth in a kiss on the next stroke, swallowing his moan, reveling in how it tasted. He kept his hand on Fitz’s hipbone, memorizing the curve of it all over again with his thumb, holding Fitz still.

“God, baby,” Hunter whimpered, “I’m so happy to have married you.”

“M-m-me too,” Fitz stuttered out and gripped Hunter’s arm. “Fuck, harder, Hunter.”

Hunter granted him that, snapping his hips harder against Fitz, faster, letting the natural rhythm of their bodies meet again and again without pause. Despite Fitz’s rolling whines and breathy moans, he intentionally kept away from Fitz’s prostate, wanting this to last. There was something so meditative about it, soothing, knowing his body already knew this dance, letting himself marvel at Fitz, the long lines of his body, the curves and dips and scars, the way his face moved, the way he sounded, the way his body reacted to Hunter’s touch. 

Each movement drew the most delicious noise from Fitz, and if the world stopped and started with this bed, Hunter wouldn’t mind. The entire world could crash down around them, and Hunter wasn’t sure he’d notice. There was only one thing that mattered in that moment, and that was getting to hear Fitz moan his name when he came.

He kissed Fitz again, and finally, feeling the hitch in Fitz’s breath as his stomach brushed along the line of his cock laying between them untouched, he let his next thrust land right against Fitz’s prostate, curling him up into Hunter. 

“Jesus, warn a guy next time,” Fitz groaned.

“Do you want me to stop?” Hunter teased.

“No,” he replied immediately, “a little warning next time that you were going to change tactics would be nice.”

“Noted,” he said into Fitz’s neck, nipping at his pulse point. 

Whatever Fitz was going to retort come out in vowels as he moaned, Hunter timing his next thrust just as he went to speak, watching with delight and pleasure blooming bright inside of his chest. 

“God, you’re absolutely beautiful. I say it every day, and I mean it, but you’re bloody beautiful, love,” Hunter said into Fitz’s skin, unable to draw himself away. He pressed kisses, dragging his lips from spot to spot, tasting the sheen of his sweat. “So beautiful.”

The praise was easy. Hunter lived day to day praising Fitz for one thing or another, and Hunter had never been shy about complimenting his physical looks. He’d also told Fitz exactly what he’d wanted, although it used to be teasing, joking, never serious, like a shield deflecting any suspicion about his true desires. Praising Fitz was second nature at this point, rolling off his tongue without him having to think about it. 

“Hunter, please,  _ fuck _ _ me _ ,” Fitz said, catching his eyes. “I want to feel you for days.”

How could he deny such a beautiful request? Who was he to deny his husband on their anniversary?

“Hold on, I have an idea, then.”

“What does that –”

Fitz yelped and lost his words halfway through as Hunter scooped him off of the mattress and hoisted him up into his lap, held aloft so only his feet touched the bed below them. He threw his arms around Hunter’s neck and let his head tip back, exposing the long column of his throat. Hunter left kisses there, soft, chaste kisses, little love letters for Fitz to remember later.

“You want to feel me for days, huh?”

He lifted Fitz off his cock almost entirely except for the very tip, and made sure Fitz was looking at him, before he let Fitz drop back down his length. The noise Fitz made couldn’t quite be classified as human, but Hunter certainly catalogued it for later. He didn’t often need to masturbate, what with a beautiful man in his bed more than willing most nights to help him out, but sometimes, Fitz would ask to watch as Hunter fucked his hand, wanting to hear Hunter detail his fantasies. He filed that noise away for the next time Fitz wanted a play by play of what Hunter would do to him. That noise, if he wasn’t already achingly rock hard, that noise would get him there. 

“You want me to fuck you so good no other cock ever comes to mind for you, huh?”

Fitz whimpered, suddenly nonverbal as Hunter lifted him again, and let him slam back down, punching noises out of him. He gripped Hunter’s shoulders for support, but let Hunter continue. 

“You want to be fucked so deep and hard that when you’re walking around the farm, you still feel me inside of you, and get turned on a little over that, huh?”

Fitz nodded, mouth open. Hunter leaned Fitz into his chest and kissed him, messy and imprecise, lifting Fitz again. His arms ached a little, but it was the good kind of ache. He wasn’t a masochist, but he’d never say no to a little pain in bed, be it discomfort from ropes or the sting of a spank.

“Your ass feels so good for me, you know,” Hunter said into their kiss, sliding his tongue along Fitz’s stu b ble, feeling the burn of the hairs. “Perfect. Like the rest of you. I want to give that to you. Come for me, baby.”

“I’m so close,” Fitz managed. 

“I know,” Hunter said, letting Fitz go again, slamming himself home inside of him. His own breath was coming raggedly, close himself, but he wanted to feel Fitz’s orgasm first,  _ needed _ it. “You can come, baby, whenever you want.”

“Please,” Fitz whispered into the space between them, and Hunter saw his eyes flick down to his aching cock.

“Touch yourself,” Hunter said. He’d do it himself but he had his hands full of the back of Fitz’s thighs, muscles flexing and relaxing as his entire body tensed on the edge of orgasm. “Hard and fast, just like I like.”

Fitz moved one hand from Hunter’s neck to his cock, and grasped it. Hunter watched – he loved to watch Fitz pleasure himself – as Fitz set a quick pace, the noise of skin on skin drowned out by the frantic moans that spilled out of him. 

“That’s it. My good boy. Make yourself come, then, just for me.”

He shifted Fitz a little on his cock, changing his angle inside of Fitz so the next stroke stretched Fitz’s hole and nailed his prostate dead on. It was enough, apparently, pushing Fitz from close to over the edge. Fitz came so beautifully, with this blissed out, unreserved look on his face and the way his entire body tensed. His cock spurted lines of cum between them, painting Fitz’s chest as equally as Hunter’s. Hunter paused to watch him, letting the way Fitz’s hole clenched around him drag him closer to his own orgasm. Fitz’s body all at once let the tension he’d been holding go and he leaned boneless into Hunter’s chest.

“Fuck,” he breathed out. He looked up at Hunter, eyes slow to blink with his energy spent. “Keep going, Lance. Don’t stop. Come inside me.”

Hunter laid Fitz back on the bed, kissing him again before fucking into him wildly. Little moans escaped Fitz, small noises of encouragement, and just when Hunter was getting frustrated that he, despite being so close, couldn’t come, Fitz squeezed his waist and shifted his hips up. The angle was delicious, and Hunter gasped as his orgasm finally burst through him, fireworks in the dark, lighting him up from the inside. He let out a long, unintelligible moan of Fitz’s name into the crook of his neck. Fitz clenched around him to milk to final bits of cum from his cock and when his arms gave out, he laid down directly on Fitz’s chest.

They laid together, just breathing. They didn’t need to talk. They had all the time in the world to do that. Right then, Hunter just breathed in the scent of Fitz, and him, and the salty sweat of sex and cum. He kissed above Fitz’s heart, and rested his ear there. He didn’t mean to fall asleep right away without cleaning up, but Fitz’s heartbeat, steady and even, lulled him to sleep, knowing his husband was safe, and sated.

* * *

At the Fall Festival, the pumpkin had to be unloaded to the viewing area in a wheelbarrow. His pumpkin sat directly across from Jameson’s and they were too similar to tell which was larger. Jameson wasn’t immediately smug, which felt like a win in and of itself.

“Stepped up your game, I see, Lance,” Jameson said, stepping forward towards him. Hunter could not say no to a challenge, so he stepped forward as well. He heard Fitz sigh, but he didn’t interfere.

“Scared?” Lance asked.

“You wish,” Jameson replied. Hunter was the last entry, and the officiant stepped out of the staff tent to help them. “Ready to hang up your second-place prize again?”

“I don’t know,  I think my first-place prize will be right at home with all of my first-place flower awards. ”

Jameson opened his mouth to retort when the officiant rolled the scale into the tent. He first wrapped a measuring tape around the circumference, starting with the smallest pumpkin and worked his way up, and then he moved to weighing each one. He noted each weight in a clipboard without a word, humming to himself. 

“Thank you, gentlemen,” he said, and sorted through the ribbons in his pouch. He started with the smallest pumpkin, and worked his way up. He paused between Jameson’s pumpkin and Hunter’s, checking his notes. “These two were very similar, they are the same circumference which is interesting, but one was much heavier than the other. So, in second place, Jameson with Hunter in first place.”

Hunter laughed, and smiled at Jameson. 

“Congratulations,” Jameson said tersely, but Hunter was buoyant.

“Thank you!” Hunter said. 

“We’ll be announcing the winners to the public at the evening festival show if you want to stick around for pictures.”

Hunter nodded.

“Thank you.”

The officiant nodded once, and left the viewing area to go back to his staff tent. Hunter turned back to Fitz and grinned.

“You’re going to be even more insufferable now, aren’t you?”

“Always.”

* * *

There was a photo taken of Fitz, Ida, and Hunter with the pumpkin and published in the local newspaper, proclaiming them the new record holders of the largest pumpkin in the county, Hunter’s arm slung around Fitz’s shoulders, Fitz’s hand was pressed into his lower back. They looked so happy. Hunter put the photo in their photo album, and Fitz kissed his cheek. 

“I’m so proud of you, baby.”

* * *

Paul and Pam asked everyone to meet at the farm in early December. When they stepped into the farmhouse, they found Ida and Richard making dinner for everyone. Pam was sitting at the table, smiling almost absently. Hunter kissed her cheek as they passed. She pat his cheek in return as a greeting. 

Pam was technically younger than Hunter by at least a decade, still in her twenties, but she seemed to sense he lacked a mother figure and treated him like she was a doting aunt. Ida did the same thing. He wondered what that said about him that mothers just felt compelled towards him. 

Andy popped out from under the table and waited at his side for his attention.

“Hello Andy. How’s it going, bud?”

“Do you want to see my new truck?”

“Of course, I do!”

Andy grabbed his hand and towed Hunter along to the living room where Paul and Fitz were chatting quietly.

“Hi Andy,” Fitz said.

“Hi Uncle Leo.”

Andy tugged him onto the floor and unveiled a tote of toy cars. Hunter  _ ooohed _ appropriately, and Andy beamed proudly at him.

“This one’s my favorite,” Andy said and held out a pick-up track that looked just like Paul’s right down to a rusted back bumper. “Grandpa made it for me.”

“Oh, wow! That’s so cool, Andy!”

“Yeah! And Daddy just gave me this one because I’m getting a brother or a sister,” Andy continued, holding up a bigger car, this one fist-sized.

Fitz and Hunter looked at Paul.

“Andy, what did we say before we came over here?”

“I don’t know,” Andy muttered. “Not to say anything.”

“You’re having another?” Fitz asked.

“Yeah, don’t tell anyone else yet. Pam wants to tell everyone at once.”

“No problem,” Hunter said. “Congratulations, man.”

“Yeah, congratulations,” Fitz agreed.

“We’re excited,” Paul said. “Pam’s been missing when Andy was small, you know.”

“Baby fever,” Fitz said.

“Essentially,” Paul said, watching Andy shove a toy into Hunter’s hand to play with him. “She’s due in late May, probably Memorial Day based on, well, you know.”

Fitz nodded, and Hunter looked at Andy on the carpet.

“What do you think? Are you excited for a new sister or brother?”

“Yeah, I want a brother!”

“You do?”

“I want someone to play cars with,” Andy said factually. “Girls don’t like cars.”

“Girls can like cars,” Hunter said, “you just haven’t met one yet.”

Andy frowned at that, quietly confused.

“What are you hoping for?” Hunter asked Paul.

“Pam wants a girl, and I want Pam to be happy,” he said with a shrug. “I already have a boy to play ball with, well, without getting looks from neighbors at least.”

When Randy and Joe arrived, they moved into the dining room where Richard was setting the places.

“She’s got you trained well, huh?” Randy said teasingly to Richard.

“Ida expected everyone to help out,” Hunter answered. “I learned how to cook when I lived here.”

“What did you learn, Leo?” Joe asked.

“Nothing,” Fitz said. “I was busy fixing everything you broke.”

Joe stuck his tongue out at Fitz, who reciprocated. Hunter and Fitz had rubbed off on their little family, accidentally teaching them modern habits and slang.

“So ungrateful,” Joe replied, “keeping you employed.”

“You know what keeps me employed? My two PhDs,” Fitz said a little petulantly. Hunter chuckled, patting Fitz’s arm soothingly. Fitz recently, Hunter had noticed, had been  melancholic , staring at his shed wistfully like it might become something else. He missed creating, learning, innovating. There were times where Fitz was cranky about it, when he didn’t want to be near the shed, and other times when he didn’t want to be away from the shed. He’d been a little irritable and Hunter had tried to be supportive while he worked through whatever this was.

“You have two PhDs?” Ida asked.

“Yeah,” Fitz said, all petulance gone.

“Tell them when,” Hunter prodded. Fitz frowned at him and pushed his hand away.

“What does he mean?”

When Fitz didn’t respond, Hunter said, “our Fitz is a genius. He  had his two PhDs before he was eighteen years old.”

“Thanks, Hunter,” Fitz said flatly. Hunter shrugged.

“You know I’m a show off, love,” he said, “always have been.”

“I don’t know why that has to involve me.”

Hunter held up his left hand and wiggled his ring finger at Fitz.

“Why did I marry you?”

“So you can kiss me anytime you want,” Hunter replied cheekily, and Fitz clearly didn’t even try to contain his  eye roll .

“Don’t quote terrible rom - coms at me when I’m annoyed at you.”

“Don’t be annoyed at me when I’m trying to quote terrible rom - coms at you.”

“Okay, boys,” Ida said  placatingly , “behave.”

Fitz gave Hunter a look like he was definitely in trouble and would pay for it later when they were home alone in their bed. A thrill ran through Hunter at the thought, and Fitz narrowed his eyes at Hunter’s reaction. The fact that Fitz knew him this well, well enough for a nonverbal conversation was something Hunter hadn’t had before. Not even with Bobbi. There was always a disconnect between him and her that didn’t happen with Fitz.

“If everyone’s here, we’ve got an announcement,” Paul said, bringing everything back around to them. Hunter turned away from Fitz, even though something inside of him just wanted to stare at Fitz, even though he had long since memorized Fitz’s face. He was so handsome, and every day he got even more so. There were a couple grey hairs in his beard these days that Hunter didn’t mention, but let his fingers touch when Fitz wasn’t paying attention. Fitz had said once that it was not a burden growing old with him, and Hunter was starting to see how that could be true. Every grey hair was a testament to their life, their growth. Every grey hair meant that they had  _ survived _ .

“I’m expecting a baby in May,” Pam said.

The group reacted all at once, and Hunter had to drag himself back to the present to react with them. Ida hugged Pam excitedly and kissed her cheek and congratulated her. The room was alight with noise and cheer, their little family thrilled for a new member. Randy clapped Paul loudly on the back with a smile.

“What a gift,” Richard said to them.

Everyone was smiles and joy. Hunter wanted to live in this moment forever.

* * *

On Hunter’s birthday, Fitz kissed him breathless, like they were teenagers alone for the first time, excited to touch each other, to explore uncharted territories. He felt Hunter up over his clothes, and murmured against his ear all of the naughty things they’d do later when they got home from Ida’s.

It was a good birthday.

* * *

New Year’s Day, Hunter got a call from Pam.

“How can you put maple and bacon together?” was the first thing she said after he’d picked up.

“Easily,” he said.

“And chocolate?”

“Yeah, sure, cupcakes. Chocolate cake, maple frosting, bacon pieces.”

“Oh my god, yes, please.”

“I’ll make them tonight, bring them over tomorrow.”

“You’re wonderful, Lance. Do you have a middle name?”

“Amadeus.”

“Really?” she asked after a pause.

“Really.”

She hummed, and said, “I’ll figure something out. Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

* * *

Hunter made all sorts of baked goods, in varying combinations, for Pam over her pregnancy, and she paid him in letting him watch Andy and discussing her ideas for names with him. She didn’t tell anyone else outside of Paul, and Hunter loved that little confidence she’d put in him. He spent every Wednesday afternoon with Pam, even when the winter gave way to spring and he had actual duties on the farm. The benefit of being the gardener, Hunter had always found, was that the rains did half of his job for him  some days . They  sat in Pam’s living room and ate a bit of the dessert he’d brought over, watching old Western movies from the 50s.

“Don’t tell Paul, but I’d probably leave him for Clint Eastwood, if he ever came calling,” Pam said dreamily, rubbing her belly absently. “Although, I’m not sure if I’d want him around Andy, you know. He seems like a bad boy, and would not be a very good influence.”

“You know he’s probably some kind of shut in when he’s not acting, right?”

She waved him off, not letting him derail her fantasy.

“I don’t know if there’s a movie star dreamy enough to make me leave, Leo.”

“Yes, yes, you’re very in love, it’s gross. I get it,” Pam laughed.

“That, but I’ve also never met anyone I find more attractive than him. To me, no one is hotter than Leopold Fitz. Not to be absolutely crass, but no one gets me going like him.”

“Lance!” she said with a laugh, blushing, clearly scandalized.

“Oh, come on, Pam, you clearly know what I’m talking about,” Hunter said, gesturing to her belly. “That baby wasn’t made immaculately.”

“Yes, but we don’t talk about it!”

“Why not? What’s going to happen if we talk about it? Our husbands are attractive. We’re attracted to them. We love and respect them, but we also want to have sex with them.”

Pam looked around like the world might be listening to them, but when she found no one, giggle and admitted, “Paul’s butt does look very good in his work pants.”

“Yes!” Hunter agreed, and she giggled, blushing deeper but clearly enjoying herself. 

Hunter was going to change at least Pam’s life, he decided. He was going to loosen her up, and let her live free, not constrained by societal rules. The sexual revolution was happening, not in Marietta, Iowa, of course, but it was happening, and he was going to make sure at least one girl in that godforsaken town knew she deserved an orgasm when she had sex with her husband, that it wasn’t just for procreation. She deserved at least that. 

* * *

The Flower Festival flew by before Hunter knew it , and at the end, Hunter hung up yet another first place prize in their living room for the roses he’d grown. Jameson glared at him as the officiant awarded Hunter again. That was the real prize, of course, making Jameson unhappy. 

* * *

“I have a favor to ask,” Pam said, her belly big and round in the middle of May. She was miserable with the late spring heat and asked for pies she could eat cold. 

“Of course, whatever you want.”

“Will you watch Andy?”

“Right now?”

“No, no,” Pam said. “When I have the baby. My parents want to be there for the birth, and – well, Paul’s parents are  _ sweet _ , but they spoil Andy way too much and let him get away with anything.”

“You trust me with Andy for a couple of days?”

“Of course, darling,” she said with a smile. “I’m hoping the birth goes smooth, but it’ll go smoother if I know Andy is being taken care of.”

Hunter smiled. 

“I’d do anything for you.”

* * *

One lazy afternoon, Fitz was laying on his chest, tracing spirals into his chest.

“What’s one thing you want to do more than anything?” Fitz asked.

“Go on vacation,” Hunter said.

“Lance,” he scoffed.

“Serious.”

“What do you mean?”

“Never been on vacation.”

“Never once,” Fitz asked. “Not as a kid? Or from the army?”

“Nope,” Hunter said, intentionally popping his P. “Any time I went somewhere, it was for a mission, or to follow a target. Dad wasn’t a vacationer, and even with Bobbi, nothing we did was a vacation together.”

“Oh, baby,” Fitz said. “We’ll go on vacation. Wherever you want to go.”

“I don’t know. Some place warm, tropical, little umbrellas in the beverages served by the beach, you laying out in the sunshine.”

“I don’t go in the ocean, just so you know.”

“A private beach house, then, with a pool and a view of the ocean.”

“Better.”

Hunter stopped to think about it.

“No, actually. Scotland,” he corrected. 

Fitz raised his head and put his hand on Hunter’s chest, palm flat above his heart like he could feel for a lie.

“You want to go to Scotland?”

“You speak so highly of it, you know. How could I not want to see the land that made and raised Leopold James Fitz, huh. Besides, that’s where your mum is. How else am I supposed to meet her if we don’t spend time in Scotland?”

Fitz smiled and kissed his sternum gently, lips lingering. 

“Scotland would be lucky to have you.”

* * *

The Friday before Memorial Day, Paul called to let Hunter know Pam was in labor and they’d be bringing him over on the way to the hospital. Andy was anxious when Pam kissed him on the forehead.

“Don’t leave me,” he murmured.

“Uncle Lance is going to take good care of you, and I’ll be home before you know it, with your brother or sister.”

“Momma,” he muttered, gripping her hand.

She knelt down, and Hunter looked away to give them this moment together. There was a part of him that ached to reach for his mum and beg her to stay still, remembering holding her hand in the hospital as she faded away. He was almost too young to understand, but the fear his dad had held, and the pity he’d felt from all of his teachers  had been too strong for him not to get it. He wasn’t what he would consider smart, but he wasn’t dumb, either. He knew people. He ached for her sometimes, especially when Ida was  nearby singing in the kitchen, when Pam smoothed back a wayward hair without thinking. 

He heard Andy sniffle and looked over to see Andy nodding, Pam nudging him towards Hunter.

“Be home before you know it,” she promised him, and he held his chin up proudly as he walked towards Hunter. Hunter, unable to stop himself, despite Andy being five years old, hiked him up onto his hip. Andy let out a little laugh despite himself. 

“How about a boys’ weekend, huh?” Hunter asked. “We can have pizza for dinner, and build a pillow fort, and stay up late.”

“Okay!” Andy agreed.

“Just make sure he does his reading and his worksheets, Lance,” Pam reminded him, gesturing to the backpack Paul had set on the porch.

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll take good care of him. You just go focus on delivering that baby safely.”

She smiled at him, and then her face contorted with a contraction. Paul was at her side in a moment, taking her hand and letting her squeeze it. 

“Come on, let’s go see Uncle Leo, see what he’s up to,” Hunter said. “Say goodbye to Mum and Dad.”

“Goodbye, baby,” Pam called. “Be good for your uncles.”

“Bye Momma,” he said loud enough to hurt Hunter’s eardrum. Paul helped Pam to the car, and Hunter carried a reluctant, and nervous Andy into the house. 

“Hey, do you want to see something cool?” Hunter asked, trying to distract Andy the best he could. 

“Yeah,” Andy said, staring over Hunter’s shoulder anyway at the car backing down the driveway. 

“Uncle Leo has a surprise for you. A really,  _ really  _ cool surprise that he made himself.”

Andy finally turned towards the house, excited for his surprise. He’d always loved Fitz’s toys and inventions he made, mostly RC cars that wouldn’t be popular with consumers for a couple more years at least. They delighted him, always had him clamoring over Fitz to see what else he’d made, how fast they could go.

“I want one that flies someday,” Andy had said once. Fitz had grinned.

“I can do that,” he had said. 

In their living room, Fitz had set out his latest design, a miniature model of the Zephyr One, complete with flight capabilities, and the remote he’d built to control it. Andy gasped and practically flung himself out of Hunter’s arms.

“Uncle Leo!” he said excitedly. “Is that – does it – does it fly?”

“Come here and find out.”

Hunter let him down and stood back, watching as he skidded along the floor to a stop next to Fitz and reached for the controller Fitz was holding out. 

“Okay, here’s the up and down, and this one’s left and right,” Fitz said very gently.

Together, Fitz and Andy flew the Zephyr around the living room, Andy accidentally bumping it off a couple of walls, but Fitz had built it tough enough to withstand a five-year-old. 

“Do you want to take it outside?” Fitz asked, and Andy lit up. 

“Yes!”

Fitz smiled over his shoulder at Hunter as they went back outside, Andy’s anxieties disappearing by the second with the joy of this new toy, and time with his uncles. 

* * *

The next morning, they’d usually head to the Saturday farmers market, but with Andy in their care, Ida had given them the day off. 

Except, the phone rang just after eight in the morning. Hunter was making breakfast for them, and Andy was sleepily drawing in a notepad Fitz had given him the night before. 

“Hello?” Hunter answered with a yawn.

“Oh! Lance! Sugar!” Ida said as if caught off-guard by Hunter answering the phone.

“Yeah, what’s going on?”

“Is Leo awake?”

“Sure. Let me grab him,” he said, and tucked the phone into the crook of his neck. “Fitz, it’s for you.”

Fitz came out of the bathroom, drying his face on a towel, eyes clearer and more focused now that he was more awake. 

“What’s for me?”

“The phone. Ida.”

Fitz ruffled Andy’s hair on the way past the kitchen table, and kissed Hunter before taking the phone. 

“Good morning,” he greeted, then paused. “Shit, really? No, I’ll be right over. Don’t worry about it.”

He hung up the phone and sighed.

“Looks like I’m going to have to head to work. The truck broke down this morning when they were trying to load up for the market. Ida sent Randy and Joe in their truck, but she still needs to get her errands done. It shouldn’t take long, but it does mean I’ll be gone for a while.”

“Okay,” Hunter said. Andy didn’t look pleased that his Uncle Weekend was interrupted by something adult like  _ work _ .

“We’ll fly the plane as soon as I get back, okay?” Fitz said to him. “Get some of your reading and worksheets done, and that’ll be your reward.”

Andy nodded solemnly. 

Fitz kissed Hunter again, holding his hips tantalizingly close to him, and said so just Hunter could hear, “you’ve got batter in your eyebrow.”

And then, he was stepping away, heading for the door.

“You’re a damn tease, Leo Fitz.”

Fitz grinned over his shoulder, swiping the keys to the Dodge off the wall on his way through. 

“Always, love.”

* * *

Around lunch time, Fitz still hadn’t come home, so Hunter distracted Andy with a pillow fort, and helping him with his reading. They laid underneath the sheets from Hunter and Fitz’s bed which were suspended above them using the broom and mop, the sunshine streaming in from the cabin’s windows just enough to light up the space. 

Andy read out loud to him, stumbling and stuttering as he went, but he kept trying, no matter how many words he fumbled. 

“You’re doing so good,” Hunter said. “You’ll be a reading champ in no time.”

Andy frowned, and played with the edge of the book he was reading from.

“What’s the matter?” 

“The other kids,” Andy started, then stopped and shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does. What do the other kids do?”

“They’re mean,” he mumbled. “They said that I don’t read good, that I’m stupid.”

Hunter felt a deep, instinctual anger towards small children, and let out a slow breath.

“Ignore them, Andy. They don’t know what they’re talking about.”

“But I don’t read good.”

“You’re still learning. When you first start doing something, you don’t do it well. But you keep trying, you keep learning, and you get better. You just started reading, and it’ll take some time to get good at it, but you have to keep trying, no matter what anyone says.”

Andy’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Here’s an example. You know how I make cakes and pies for your mum? And pie for your birthday?” He nodded. “Well, I haven’t always been good at that. In fact, the first time I tried, there was flour, and butter, and pie dough  _ everywhere _ . It was a  _ mess! _ I got it on the ceiling, and the walls, and Uncle Leo.”

Andy giggled.

“But,” Hunter continued, “but I kept trying. I made another pie, and it went better than the first time. And then I made another. And another. And slowly, after many, many attempts, trials, and general mess ups, I learned how to make a pie the right way without making a huge mess. That’s what you have to do.”

“Make a lot of pies?” Andy asked.

“No, you have to keep reading. Read whatever you can. Read it to yourself, read it aloud, read it over and over. Keep trying. Show them that you can do it, because you can. You just have to try, okay?”

Andy nodded, and Hunter kissed his forehead. 

“Come read to me at the table while I make us some lunch,” Hunter said. Andy followed him out of the fort to the kitchen, climbing up into the chair with his book. They hadn’t gotten to the worksheets yet, that was after lunch’s problem, Hunter had decided. 

Hunter made grilled cheese and canned tomato soup, listening to Andy read the story to him slowly. 

“See,” Hunter said, setting the food down in front of Andy and taking the book to set aside. “You’re already getting better, bud.”

There was a noise which startled Andy, but Hunter couldn’t place it, so he assured Andy it was probably a plane headed to the nearby airfield.

“I want to fly a plane someday!” Andy decided. 

“You can do whatever you want. If you want to be a pilot, you absolutely can.”

Andy grinned, and went back to his lunch, talking all about how he was going to be a pilot, and fly all across the world, and he was going to see the ocean. He was excited, stumbling over his words, and mixing up phrases, and Hunter couldn’t bother to correct him. He loved watching Andy’s joy, how he felt it with his whole body, the way he gestured, and couldn’t sit still in his seat. When Andy got really excited, he had a tendency to bounce around, all of the happiness having to go somewhere in his little boy. 

Hunter hoped that Andy never stopped being that excited. It was a shame to watch people grow up and forget that they had interests, and they were allowed to enjoy them. Hunter still loved football, passionately, but had no way of watching it these days, but he and Fitz still debated who supported the better team. It was Hunter, hands down. 

It was unlikely that Andy would hold that level of general fervor for life, Hunter knew, Hunter had experienced it, but he still hoped.

* * *

After lunch, Hunter sat with Andy to complete half of his worksheet to accompany the reading. 

“We’ll go out and water the garden when we’re done,” Hunter promised. “And you can play with Cal.”

There was the sound of a horn honking, the truck coming up the drive.

“I’m going to check on that, you stay here and do your worksheet.”

“Okay.”

Hunter left the cabin, letting Cal follow him outside. Fitz was climbing out of the truck, and – 

He couldn’t breathe for a moment, watching in slow motion as Cal ran across the yard towards Fitz, as Bobbi emerged from the passenger side door, Mack’s head peaking over the top of the cab from the truck bed, a flash of dark hair which could’ve been Simmons or Daisy.

“I brought home some strays, I hope that’s okay,” Fitz said with a grin. 

“Bobbi,” was all he could say. She looked exactly how he remembered, long blonde hair tied up away from her face, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. 

Cal bowled into Fitz the same way she always did, and Hunter crossed the yard to Bobbi. They collided, Hunter wrapping her tightly, and tried not to immediately cry into her shoulder. 

“Hi,” she said. “Your hair got long.”

He laughed, buried himself in her for a long moment. 

“Alright, alright, share,” Mack said, pushing at Bobbi until she released him. 

One by one, Hunter hugged their friends, glad to see them again after so long. None of them had changed a single bit, only Fitz and Hunter had. 

Once she had gotten Fitz’s attention, Cal became  nervous, her tail tucked between her tail at so many new people around her dads all at once. He whistled towards her, and she came to his side for his comfort. He knelt down and scratched behind her ear and along her neck to her favorite spot on her chest. 

“It’s okay, they’re friends,” he said.

“Uncle Lance!” Andy called from the porch. “Can I come outside?”

“Yeah, bud,” Hunter called. 

He looked back to make sure Bobbi and everyone else was still there, afraid they were some hallucination or daydream. There they were, though. 

Andy stepped out onto the porch, and surveyed the group, eyebrows furrowed. His eyes landed on Fitz and he grinned.

“Uncle Leo! You’re home!”

“I am,” he agreed. Andy came running out towards him and launched himself into Fitz’s arms. He caught him easily and swung him around onto his hip. “Were you good for Uncle Lance?”

“I was! We read out loud, and we had lunch, and he said I could fly someday, and I did half of my worksheet, so can I fly the Zep-per now?”

Andy hadn’t quite mastered his Fs yet, and Hunter almost  asked Fitz to rename it the  Zepper because it was the cutest thing Andy had ever said.

“You can. Go grab it for me. Carefully.”

He nodded once and Fitz set him down, kissing his forehead. 

“Cal, go with him,” Hunter said, and she trotted after him, back into the house. 

“Wow,” Bobbi said. “Quite a little life you’ve got  here . You kidnap a kid?”

“What? No. He’s our friend’s kid. He and his wife are in the hospital, having their second, and wanted someone they could trust watch Andy.”

“Someone trusts you with their kid?” 

“Yeah,” was all he said. There was a clatter then a crash from inside the house, and then silence, and Andy didn’t reappear. “I better check on him. I’ll be right back.”

He jogged up the drive and into the house. Andy was standing on the step-stool by the shelf where he and Fitz had put the Zephyr miniature away the night before, out of Andy’s line of sight when he was sleeping on the couch so he wasn’t tempted to get up in the middle of the night and play with it. He had knocked one of the framed photos off the shelf, and knocked over one of the little fake flower figurines that Paul had gotten him as a gag gift for his fake birthday the year before. 

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. 

“It’s okay. No harm done.”

He bent down and picked up the photo. It was of their wedding day, Fitz and Hunter in the archway, smiling wildly at each other. The frame was broken, and the glass covering it, but the photo was unharmed. 

“See, just the glass broke. Easily fixed. Are you okay?”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“Andy,” Hunter repeated. “Are  _ you _ okay?”

“Yes,” Andy said, holding up his hands to show they were unharmed. 

“Good. We can replace things, but we can’t replace you.”

“Momma and Daddy are replacing me,” Andy said quieter. 

“Oh, buddy, no. They’re not replacing you.”

“They’re bringing home a new baby,” he said, tears starting to flood his big brown eyes. “Because I’m not good. They don’t want me.”

Hunter set the photo down, and picked Andy up. He wrapped his arms around Hunter’s neck and buried himself into his chest so he didn’t have to face the world. 

“They do want you. They love you so much that they wanted you to have a friend for life. They wanted you to never feel alone, or afraid, because you’ll have your brother or sister there. They wanted to share you with someone else, because we’re so lucky to have you, and so will you brother or sister.”

Andy cried quietly.

“I don’t want to share them.”

He sighed and stroked Andy’s back, walking out of the house to get Fitz, carrying the Zephyr with him. He found his  husband leaning  into  Jemma , smile soft like he’d forgotten he was doing it. His eyes came to Hunter, though, as he stepped outside.

“Is he okay?”

“Struggling with having to share Mum and Dad with the new baby,” Hunter said. “He broke our wedding photo frame, and doesn’t want to be replaced.”

Fitz cooed and let go of  Jemma to come close.

“Hey,” Fitz said to Andy. “Do you know that Uncle Lance and I don’t have any brothers or sisters?”

Andy raised his head from Hunter’s shoulder, and even though he couldn’t see Andy’s expression, the way Fitz stifled a laugh made him think he was doing his  confused scrunched face.

Fitz continued,  “I wish I’d had a friend growing up, someone to play with, someone who understood my mum like I did, someone who I could share secrets with. I was really lonely growing up. I wish I’d had a brother, or a sister.”

“Really?”

Fitz nodded seriously. 

“Really  really . I think you’re lucky. Mum and Dad aren’t trying to replace you, they’re just trying to make sure the most amount of people get to love you and know you and be friends with you. You’re the coolest little man anyone could possibly know. They just know that you are way too cool to be an only child.”

Andy laughed, and wiped away a tear. 

“We can fly the  Zepper now?”

“Yeah, Uncle Lance even brought it outside for you.”

Hunter handed it over to Fitz with the remote control and set Andy down. Fitz led Andy away from the group a little and set the Zephyr model on the ground, and handed the control over.

“Remember which lifts the Zephyr?” he asked.

“This one!” Andy said, pointing to the joystick which controlled up and down movement.

“That’s right!”

“Hunter,” Bobbi said, drawing his attention back to her and the group. “How long have you been here? Fitz just said a while when we asked. ”

“Almost six years,” Hunter answered. “We landed in 1963.”

“Six year,” Jemma breathed out. He nodded. 

“How’d you find us?”

“There was a picture in a paper, of you and Fitz with a pumpkin, I guess?” Bobbi said. “Daisy found it with a program she created that scanned through historical documents for your descriptions, your names, your faces, anything. The Marietta paper recently uploaded their backlog of issues, and you popped up.” 

“So you didn’t get our letter, then,” Hunter said.

“We got a letter but it was too degraded to get anything from by the time that it arrived,” Jemma said, looking towards Fitz. “All we knew was that you were alive somewhere, some  _ when _ waiting for us.” 

Hunter nodded and scrubbed a hand across his beard.

“It’s really good to see you,” he said. “All of you. It’s been a long time.”

“Is that – are you wearing a wedding ring?” Bobbi asked. Hunter looked at his hand, as if he didn’t know exactly what his wedding ring looked like. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Fitz and I got married, well, as married as you can get in Iowa in the 60s when you’re two men, last year.”

Bobbi stared at him for a long moment.

“Congratulations,” Mack said first, and then Daisy and Jemma cut in with their own. “I should have known you’d end up together.”

Hunter laughed.

“It was hard to say no when we were sleeping in the same bed every night. He’s a convincing little bastard, that’s for sure.”

“You know, I can hear you,” Fitz said. 

“I know,” Hunter replied, and Fitz smiled at him. “You pursued me, though, remember. You kissed me first. You gave me my birthday present when we had decided to wait.”

“And what a beautiful life it turned into,” Fitz said.

“Can’t argue there, can I?”

“Not without risking a divorce.”

Hunter rolled his eyes, and turned his attention to Bobbi who was still silent , assessing .

“You alright, Bob?”

She shook her head, and said, “I’m fine.”

“Okay,” he said, but he knew they’d be talking about this later. Bobbi clearly had a lot of feelings about this, and he knew he’d be hearing about it sometime, but she had to process it first. Hunter had had six years to sort out his feelings about everything, say goodbye to their life together, mourning their lost marriage. Six years. He’d made peace with it all, moved on, fallen in love, started a life, got married. He’d lived six years without her.

He reached for her hand and squeezed it.

“Take your time, babe.  If living here has taught me anything it’s that w e’ve got that.”

She nodded. 

“ Speaking of, how long was it for you?”

“A couple months,” she said. 

“Bobbi.”

“Two months, three weeks, two days and eighteen hours. Give or take.”

“Five years, ten months, two weeks, two days,” he replied. 

“Must have been hard,” she said. 

“It wasn’t all bad,” he said and gestured to the house. “I had it pretty nice here. Fitz and I found a place to survive, and belong together.”

“That farmer we met?” Mack asked.

“Ida, yeah, she gave us a home, jobs, this house. Fitz fixes up the farm, I take care of the garden.”

“You garden?” Daisy said.

“I do. I grew that pumpkin from the paper. Took me five years, but I beat that son of a bitch Jameson finally with that pumpkin.” 

“Who? What?”

Hunter waved that comment away. 

“So, Fitz is married, to you, and you’re married, to him,” Daisy said.

“That is how marriage typically works, yes,” he replied. He looked over at Fitz who was laughing, Andy sitting on his shoulders to get a better view as the Zephyr swept through the air, back and forth. 

“How’d you propose?” Mack asked.

“ Ahh , that was actually him,” Hunter said, gesturing towards Fitz. “He proposed, made us matching rings, promised me the future. It was all very romantic.”

“Matching rings?” Jemma asked. “That certainly sounds like Fitz.”

He held out his hand to show her the handmade ring he wore. She reached out and studied it for a moment, running her thumb over the metal. Even six years apart, Fitz and Simmons had  the same mannerisms.

“Fitz certainly would,” Hunter agreed. “Beyond the fact that he did, you know.”

There was a quiet moment as Jemma let his hand go, and Hunter scrubbed the back of his neck.

“Do you want to come inside? See the place?”

“Yes,” Jemma and Daisy answered at the same time. He led the way inside, his little band of agents following him into the house. Cal was laying on her bed, and raised her head to look at them. 

“Who is this?” Jemma asked.

“That’s Cal. She’s our farm dog, a very good girl.”

He whistled at her and she hopped up to come to his side. He whistled again, lower, and she sat down at his feet. Another whistle, a warbling tone, and she  laid down flat on her belly. 

“She’s adorable,”  Daisy said. Hunter grabbed a treat from the container on the  counter and tossed it for her. She snatched it out of the air and munched on it happily . “ We should get a dog for the base.”

“Fitz pointed out that the bases have a tendency to get blown up,” Hunter said. 

Daisy made a noise of understanding and knelt down. Cal crept forward to her extended hand and bumped Daisy’s hand with her snout.

“You’re such a sweetie,” Daisy cooed and Cal’s tail thumped on the ground. “What’s a name like Cal doing on a good girl like you?”

“She’s named after May, so,” Hunter said.

“What? How is Cal named after – the Cavalry, really?”

“You wouldn’t even shorten Cavalry to Cal,” Jemma said. “That’s not how Cavalry is spelled . ”

Hunter shrugged.

“So, that’s Cal, she’s a good companion,” Hunter said. “This is our home, it’s little but perfect for us. This is the living room, kitchen, and dining room. Our bedroom is through there. Out that door is the backyard, Fitz’s lab in our shed and my greenhouse.”

Bobbi wandered over to the bookshelf Andy had been at previously and picked up the wedding photo of Fitz and Hunter in front of the sunflower field, glass shattered.

“Oh,” she said, more to herself than anything. Hunter took the photo album from the shelf, and took out from the back a packet of extra wedding photos Randy had taken and developed . He handed them over to her and watch ed the way she flicked through them. She lingered on a group photo of everyone by the archway, Fitz and Hunter at the center, arms around each other's waists, twin smiles wide and unrepentant. 

“You look really happy,” she said, turning to the next photo of Hunter looking at Fitz, the first time he’d seen  him at their wedding, standing on the porch in the sunset. “He’s good to you?”

“Of course,” Hunter said automatically. “More than I deserve.”

“That’s not true,” Bobbi protested. He took the photos with the album and nodded her towards the kitchen table. They sat around it, the rest of the group coming to take the rest of the chairs. Hunter could hear Fitz and Andy outside, the sound of the miniature Zephyr whirring by. 

“Here,” he said, opening the photo album to the first page, that first photo ever taken of them on the farm. “Six years.”

He walked them through the album, talking about what life had been like, what the farm was like. Mack scoffed when Hunter mentioned baking pies and how Andy’s middle name was Lance because of a pumpkin pie that he had made for Pam. Bobbi lingered on the photo of Hunter with baby Andy. Jemma got stuck on a photo of Fitz at the farmer’s market, surrounded by baskets of vegetables, mostly zucchini and yellow squash that had overtaken the garden one summer. He was squinting in the sun, not looking towards the camera, unaware that Randy was there, taking a photo as part of a gift he’d been making for Ida.

“I can’t believe it's been six years,” Jemma said. “I would have gone crazy if I had to spend six years without him there with me.” 

“He missed you so much,” Hunter assured her. “He thought of you every day you were apart.”

She smiled at him, and he reached across the table to squeeze her hand. 

“He missed all of you, we both did.”

“Well,” Daisy said, “you don’t have to miss us anymore. When we get back. I’m sure we’ll all get sick of each other again very soon.”

Hunter played with the photo he had close by, another wedding photo, this one of their first kiss, Hunter pressed back with the force of Fitz’s mouth against his. 

“You are coming back with us today, right?” Bobbi asked when he turned the photo around on the table’s surface, a record on a gramophone. 

“I mean, I can’t go back today,” he said.

Fitz came in with a laughing Andy who Fitz dumped onto Hunter’s lap and went to kiss him.

“May I kiss you, Lance?” he asked, eying Andy who was watching them. 

“You may.”

Fitz tipped Hunter’s head back with two fingers underneath his chin, and kissed him sweetly.

“Good flight?” Hunter asked him and Andy at the same time.

“Yeah!” Andy said. “We flew it and Uncle Leo landed it in the garden.”

“Andy, what did I say about secrets?” Fitz laughed awkwardly.

“What’d you do to my garden, Leopold?” Hunter asked. 

“Nothing. I just landed it between the rows. Sort of.  On the second attempt. The first might have landed on a  zucchini plant. ”

“We’ll be talking about that later.”

Fitz made a face of guilt at Andy who Hunter could see made the same face back.

“Hunter was just saying he didn’t want to come back,” Bobbi said conversationally to Fitz.

“No,” Hunter interjected quickly. “Don’t cause problems, Bob. I said I can’t go back  _ today _ , because I can’t.”

He gestured to his lap full of Andy.

“I have a responsibility here, to take care of Andy while his parents are away, and as much as I’d love to go home, I’m not just going to dump Andy with Ida and flee.”

“He’s right,” Fitz added. “We made lives here, not just together in this house, but we also have friends, jobs,  a  family here. We can’t just leave. We need a few days to say goodbye.”

“Nothing will happen if you leave without saying goodbye, or giving your two weeks,”  Bobbi started to argue. 

“That’s not the point, Barbara,” Hunter snapped. He stopped and looked at Andy in his lap. “Andy, can you take Cal outside?”

“Do you have to fight?” Andy asked. “I don’t like when adults fight.”

“We just need to have a discussion, okay, bud? We’ll do something that you want when we’re done, we just have to talk about this alone.”

Andy hopped off his lap, and Hunter whistled to Cal to go outside. Once they were alone, Hunter turned his focus back to Bobbi. 

“It may have no historical significance if we kip out without goodbye, but these people gave us a home when we were stranded out of time. Ida gave us a roof over our heads, and jobs to go to, and didn’t turn us over to the town for a group queer - kick when she found us out. Paul is my best friend, and he named his  child after me. Randy took our wedding photos. If we leave today, nothing changes to the timeline , but  _ we  _ will hurt and ache for these people. They are our family, and I’m not leaving them without an explanation.”

Fitz set his hand on Hunter’s shoulder and squeezed in comfort, in solidarity. He reached up and covered it with his own.

“We’ve been here for six years,” Fitz said. “It’s not easy to let go of this that easily. This isn’t some undercover job we’ll walk away from unscathed. Hunter and I didn’t think we’d ever be going home, so we dug in and made a life here. It won’t be forever. We do want to go home, back to the future, if you won’t mind the reference, but we have some business to attend to.”

“I don’t mind waiting,” Jemma said  chipperly . “I’d quite like to explore, see what you’ve been up to for so long.”

Fitz smiled at  her , and Hunter had never been so grateful for Jemma Simmons.

“We can afford a few days. I’ll have to let the rest of the team know, but it won’t hurt to give you that time.”

“Thank you, Mack,” Hunter said. “We appreciate it.”

Mack nodded.

“It’s good to have you back with us.”

* * *

Bobbi was quiet, and when Daisy and Mack decided to head back to update everyone, she jumped at the opportunity to join them and get away from Hunter.

“I’m  going to stay,” Jemma said, looking at Fitz like he might disappear if she turned away again. Hunter understood. “If you two don’t mind my company.”

“Not at all,” Hunter said with a smile at her. She grinned back at him. Even if she wasn’t Fitz’s best friend, Hunter enjoyed Jemma’s presence in his life. The fact that she was a part of Fitz, of his past and who he’d become was more of a bonus than anything. Hunter just had a fondness for her.

Fitz looked pleased to see them getting along.

“I can help you pack, or cook,” she offered. 

“That sounds nice,” Fitz said. “Thank you, Jemma.”

“If Deke insists on coming, what should I –” Daisy asked.

“He can come,” Fitz said. “He’ll just be sad if we say no, and he’s part of the family.” 

Daisy nodded, and they headed out with the keys to the truck. They were apparently cloaked in a field nearby, too far to walk but close by in case of trouble. Fitz gave Daisy their home phone number in case they needed to contact them.

“This place is very lovely,” Jemma said, Andy coming back in with Cal, covered in mud and grinning happily. 

“Oh, look at you!” Hunter laughed. “Where did you find a mud puddle?”

“The hose in the yard,” Andy replied. Cal tracked mud across the floor, and onto her bed. He’d have to wash that, and mop the floor, and give Cal a bath.

Except if they were leaving, he didn’t have to.

He still might because Ida owned this house and he couldn’t leave it in a mess like that. Not to her. Never to Ida.

“You’re getting a bath tonight,” Hunter said and Andy groaned. “Go wash your hands so you can finish up your worksheet before dinner.”

“Uncle Lance,” Andy whined.

“Hands,” he repeated, and Andy trudged off to wash his hands in the bathroom. 

“We should probably tell Ida today,” Fitz said. 

“You’re right,” Hunter said. “Besides, I’m sure she’ll want to get to know Jemma before we leave to make sure someone is taking care of us.”

“That’s true.”

“Ida was that nice woman at the farm?” Jemma asked.

“Yeah, she’s the sweetest,” Fitz said. “She gave us this house, officiated our wedding, taught us how to farm and farmstead, all that.”

“You think she’ll like me, then?”

“Yes,” Fitz and Hunter answered simultaneously.

“She’ll absolutely adore you, love,” Hunter continued. “Since we got here, all she’s wanted is for us to be happy, and safe. And I speak for both of us when I say it’s so good to see you again.”

She threw a hug around him, and he laughed, tucking himself into her. She was warm, even though her fingers at the nape of his neck were little icicles against his skin, and she smelled of honey and sunshine. Hunter could absolutely understand how Fitz could love her.

“You absolutely are safe now,” she said into his collar. “Thank you for taking care of him and loving him.”

“Thank you for taking care of him long enough to get him to me.”

She laughed.

“He’s good, right?”

“God, the best!”

“How’d he propose?” Jemma asked finally stepping away and putting space in between them. “From what I remember, he’s quite the romantic.”

“In our kitchen, after I freaked out about dying and his safety.”

“There was a little more to it than that,” Fitz protested. 

Andy came out of the bathroom, and where he wasn’t covered in mud, he was soaking wet with the water from the sink. Hunter stared at him for a long moment.

“Andrew, I saw wash your hands, not bathe in the sink,” he said, stifling a laugh.

“I couldn’t reach!” Andy said. 

Fitz laughed, and turned his attention to grab a towel. He knelt down and wiped Andy with the towel where he had gotten the most water and over his head which left his soft brown hair standing straight up with static. 

“You’re a disaster,” Fitz said lovingly and then asked, “may I kiss your forehead, Andy?”

“Please!”

Fitz kissed his forehead.

“Do you want to go see Aunt Ida?”

“Yes!”

* * *

Ida was sitting on the porch when they walked up, and Hunter had never seen her look so sad.

“Hey sugars,” she said, setting the knitting she was working on to the side to give them her attention. She was polite like that, a true Southern belle. 

“Hey,” Hunter said. “Long time no see. Hot Pants here?”

She made a face at him, clearly unamused with his antics as usual.

“Where are my manners? Who is this?” she asked, breezing past his comment about Richard, standing and moving to join them in the yard. Richard’s car wasn’t in the drive, so Hunter assumed that meant he was not. 

“This is Jemma Simmons,” Fitz said. “She’s my best friend, ever since we were kids. Jemma, this is Ida Featherstone, she owns this farm and took us in when we crashed here.”

“It’s very nice to meet you,” Jemma said, stepping forward and smiling that endearing smile that made her easy to love. “I’m so glad Fitz and Hunter found this place, that they found a place where they could be themselves without fear.”

Ida looked from Jemma to Fitz and Hunter on the other side of her.

“She knows about you two then?” Ida asked cautiously.

“She does,” Fitz confirmed. “She’s good.”

“Okay. Good. Then, welcome to the farm. My name is Ida, and it’s good to meet you, Jemma.”

* * *

Ida made them dinner, with Hunter’s help, and Jemma absolutely enchanted Ida with her intelligence and her kindness. Jemma’s manners were far superior to either Fitz’s or Hunter’s, which went a long way. Ida was constantly clucking at them to get their elbows off the table, and chew with their mouths closed, but Jemma was a perfect example of manners and propriety.

“You know I love you,” Ida said as Hunter gathered the plates to take to the sink, “you’re the light of my life, and brought joy back into my home, but if fate had dropped that girl into my yard instead of either one of you, that would have been a blessing.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hunter grumbled. “You can say you like her more than me.”

Ida stood up, caught him by the jaw, and kissed his cheek.

“I like her more than you, sugar.”

He pushed her off and she laughed, sinking back into the chair.

“So,” Ida said, looking at Fitz, and then Hunter. “I reckon you didn’t come here just for a nice meal and a visit.”

“We did not,” Fitz replied.

She nodded.

“You’re leaving,” she said.

“We are,” Hunter said. 

“I knew this day might come eventually, but I just didn’t think it would be so soon.”

“It’s been six years, Ida,” Hunter argued. 

“Well, it hasn’t been long enough. You boys have done a lot for me. Not just the farm. For me. I was broken after John died. We’d mourned our children together, and I thought I’d never have a family but at least I had him, and then John died, and I thought it was some sort of sign, that I was cursed. But God, or whoever, dropped you into my life, bloodied, lying to me about some car wreck – no, don’t argue, I dragged that hunk of metal out of the field myself. But God gave me you, two broken men with ghosts that I hadn’t seen since the war. And you gave me a reason to smile, and teach, and learn, and laugh. You gave me a family, and the strength to be loved again. You gave me love, and hope that things would turn out okay, that I wouldn’t be cursed forever. And because of you, I have Richard.”

“Hot Pants,” Hunter said.

“Don’t ruin the moment, Lance.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I don’t want to say goodbye, but  y’all don’t really belong here. I know that. I don’t know who you are, or where you came from, but I know that this place is too small, and too rooted for the likes of you. My strange, wild boys.”

She stood up again to put her hands on Hunter's face, palms pressed gently into his jaw. 

“I just want one promise from you,” she said, and she gestured Fitz over to her. Fitz came willingly to their sides. She moved one hand from Hunter’s face to Fitz’s. “First, I’m throwing a going away party. And second, wherever you go, you keep loving each other with everything you have, because this love you’ve got here, it’s too wild and rare to let go of.”

“That’s two things,” Hunter said.

“Lance,” Ida admonished.

“Yes, I promise.”

“I promise,” Fitz said. “Kept him around this long without murdering him, I think I can go another fifty years.”

“Please, like I’m going to make it to ninety.”

“You’d better make it to ninety,” Fitz said. 

Hunter grinned at him, and said, “just for you, then.”

“Come here,” Ida said, reeling them in for a group hug. Hunter didn’t really like group hugs. He didn’t enjoy being pressed into multiple bodies from awkward angles, but Fitz never felt awkward against him, at any angle, and Ida tucked herself into them just right. Family, Hunter thought, that was the difference, the different pieces of himself and his heart all held together with arms wrapped and heads tucked and hearts beating in sync.

* * *

Hunter tucked Andy into his blankets on the couch while a quiet movie played on the television. He looked so small dwarfed by oversized pillows and fluffy blankets. 

“Oh,” Fitz said as Hunter turned off the lights in the living room and headed for the porch where they’d moved after getting home from Ida’s. “Where is Jemma going to sleep?”

“I can sleep on the floor,” she offered.

“No,” Hunter said. “You and Fitz can take the bed; I’ll sleep on the floor with Andy.”

Fitz frowned. 

“Hunter,” he started to protest.

“Spend some time with your best friend, love. I know how much you missed her. I can sleep in the floor for one night.”

“I haven’t slept without you in forever,” Fitz said.

“You’ll have Jemma with you, and I won’t be far if you have a nightmare. But you can do this.”

He kissed Fitz on the temple, and smiled as Fitz’s hand came up to his neck, thumb brushing over his jaw. 

“Okay, but I don’t want to hear you complain about your back hurting in the morning, mister.”

“You’ll hear it, and you’ll like it,” Hunter said without any heat.

“You really don’t have to –” Jemma argued again.

“There’s no use. He’s made up his mind,” Fitz said.

“Sounds like someone else I know, huh,” Jemma replied, nudging Fitz suggestively.

“Shut up,” he grumbled.

“I told you! Thank god, someone else sees it,” Hunter said. “He got Ida wrapped around his finger and she would never believe me that he’s so incredibly stubborn.”

“Me! Wrapped around Ida’s finger! Please!”

“What? You’re Ida’s favorite, not me.”

“I am not!”

“You absolutely are.”

“ Nuh -uh.”

“Yeah-huh.”

“Okay, boys,” Jemma laughed, cutting them off. “You’re both hard-headed and well-loved.”

Fitz stuck out his tongue at Hunter, who mirrored him. 

* * *

Hunter didn’t sleep particularly well, not just because of the hard floor beneath him, and in the morning, Fitz fell into him, taking his coffee to drink.

“I don’t like being apart from you,” Fitz muttered.

“Won’t happen again, love.”

“I smell bacon,” Jemma said, stumbling out of the bedroom a few minutes later, wearing one of Fitz’s shirts, her hair a mess.

“There’s bacon, eggs, and toast for breakfast. Do you prefer tea or coffee?”

“Tea, please,” Jemma mumbled. Hunter grinned, and set the kettle on the stove for her and Fitz’s tea once he finished his coffee. “Thank you, Hunter.”

* * *

The party that Ida had put together was spectacular, held on Sunday night after Andy had fallen asleep in one of the spare rooms upstairs, Christmas lights and lamps and torches strewn about the yard to illuminate everything. 

Ida invited Randy and Joe, Richard, and all of the team, and promised them rooms in the house if they wanted to drink.

“I want to know,” Ida said as explanation, “who is going to be looking after my boys, so you get them all in this yard for drinks and food, and I will decide if they are worthy of you.”

“And if you deem that they aren’t?” Fitz asked.

“Then, I will make them worthy.”

Hunter had no idea what that meant, but he did not want to find out. 

They’d rounded up all of the team and brought them to the farm for the festivities. Ida had forbidden Hunter from the kitchen, even though he wanted to help for the last time, for old time’s sake, but she’d insisted that he enjoy the day, not stress himself out. 

“I wish Paul and Pam were here,” he said to Fitz, though, despite everything, watching the team chat with the farmhands. “Seems weird for them not to be here, after everything.”

“Yeah,” Fitz agreed. “They’re a part of the family, too.”

“I wonder if the baby’s been born yet.”

“What do you think they’re having?”

“I’m hoping for a girl, for Pam.”

“Yeah, Pam with a little girl,” Fitz sighed, and then Hunter watched his expression go sad. 

“What?”

“We won’t get to see her grow up. Or Andy. We step on that plane, and when we land in the future, everyone will be old. Andy will be older than us, with kids, and grandkids, probably.”

“Yeah,” Hunter said. “God, that’s depressing.”

Fitz leaned in and kissed him, drawing his attention away from the future and to the present, right there with his mouth, his tongue, his hand on his hip, the bump of his beer against Hunter’s elbow.

“Gross,” Daisy said, coming over to them. “Is this what you being back is going to be like?”

“Yes,” Fitz answered. “What do you want, Daisy?”

“I just thought I’d point out that your grandson is going towards the ambrosia, and I thought you’d want to watch.”

“You’re a blessing,” Fitz said, shifting to see Deke better.

Deke had been, understandably, confused when Fitz had told him he’d gotten married to Hunter in the years they were apart, especially given that in his past, Fitz had had a child with Jemma who in turn gave birth to Deke. Hunter could not, and would not, be able to do that same thing and give birth to any baby girl. Although, Hunter thought, if anyone in the world could get pregnant without a uterus, it would definitely be a member of their team, without a doubt. They’d gone through enough weird shit. A miracle baby wouldn’t be their biggest surprise. 

Still, Deke had kept his distance from Hunter, not out of malice but out of confusion and disappointment. Hunter was the reason that his grandparents weren’t together and now never would be. Sort of.

Hunter watched with delight as Deke put a lump of ambrosia on a plate, and grabbed a fork to pop a large amount into his mouth. 

“If he likes this, he’s not my grandson,” Fitz said. “We’ll know once and for all.”

“The DNA and the science means nothing, huh?” Daisy teased.

“If he likes ambrosia, yes.”

Deke’s face turned, his frown deepening, and then he frantically searched for the trash can. He spat it out into the kitchen can Ida had set at the end of the serving table , and promptly tipped the rest of the lump on his plate into the trash too.

“ Ahhh , looks like we keep him,” Hunter said to Fitz.

“Damn.”

Daisy laughed and said, “he’s actually not that bad, speaking as his girlfriend, and he’s the one that had the idea to scan newspaper databases. Figured one of you would make a headline eventually.” 

Hunter considered Deke, who was tossing a devilled egg into his mouth to mask the flavor of the ambrosia.

“Those Fitz-Simmons genes are strong,” he commented. “He survived an apocalyptic  hellscape , adapted to the past, and continued to adapt and thrive in any time period. If that’s not proof enough that he belongs to you, I don’t know what is, love.”

Fitz nudged him lovingly, gaze soft.

“Are you guys going to get married again in the present or are you going to let this one ride?” Daisy asked.

“No, no,” Fitz said, “we’re getting married with a legally binding marriage certificate. I’m not letting him go ever. He’s meeting my mum and everything.”

“Oh, big commitment, meeting the mom,” Daisy said. “Are you ready for that?”

“More commitment than gay marriage in rural America in the 1960s?” Hunter teased.

“You’ve never met Elspeth,” she said. “She gives you this look like if you’re not good to  him , she’ll know and you’ll have the wrath of a very small Scottish woman following you everywhere.”

“You didn’t say your mum was terrifying.”

“She’s not. She’ll love you.”

“Daisy’s afraid of her,” Hunter said.

“Daisy’s not my husband, someone I’ve lived with and committed six years of my life to.”

“That’s true,” Hunter said. Daisy snuck away towards Daniel and Deke, leaning into each other beside Mack and Yo-yo. Daisy pressed a kiss into Daniel’s cheek and then another on Deke’s before tucking herself between them . Hunter hadn’t expected that, actually, but good on them if they could make it work.

“I promise you, Lance,” Fitz said, drawing him back to him for a kiss, long and sweet, “Mum will love you because I love you, and you’ve given me six years without wavering. You’re going to be okay.” 

“I’ll marry you without approval,” Hunter said. Fitz laughed and squeezed his hip lovingly. “You know that. I’ll follow you anywhere.”

“Even onto the dance floor?” he asked, gesturing to where Randy and Joe were sloppily waltzing off-beat, and Ida and  Richard were swaying on a different off-beat.

“Even there.”

“Come spin me around the dance floor, then, Mr. Fitz-Hunter.”

* * *

“Can I tell you a secret?” Fitz asked in their twin beds pushed together in one of the spare rooms, curled into Hunter’s side. They hadn’t drunk enough to not make it home, but it felt right to spend one last night together here, their last night echoing their first almost. 

“Of course.”

“Every year, on my birthday, when I blew out those candles, I’d wish for this.”

“ For?”

“Going home, you at my side, knowing that even if our future wasn’t written yet, I didn’t have to fear because I could face anything with you.”

“That’s a good wish.”

“Finally came true.”

Hunter kissed Fitz's hairline.

“ Yeah,” he said. “It did. ”

“Even if this  didn’t ever happen,  y ou’re every birthday wish c o me true for me.”

Hunter rested his forehead against  Fitz’s and sighed happily.  Fitz nudged him with his nose, and Hunter nudged him back. Soft, sweet, perfect.

* * *

On Memorial Day, Pam and Paul pulled into the driveway while Fitz and Jemma played monkey in the middle with Andy, tossing back and forth a ball. Hunter was checking over the worksheet Andy had finished, his feet propped up on the porch railing. 

“Momma! Daddy!” Andy said, and it was only Fitz moving to catch him around the waist that stopped him from running straight for the car.

“Wait until the car stops, Andy,” Fitz said. When the car finally stopped, Fitz let Andy go, who booked it across the yard to the passenger side. Pam climbed out of the car slowly,  clearly still aching at least, if not in pain . She popped open the back door and carefully extracted the car seat. Andy was practically vibrating next to her. 

“Andy, I want you to meet your baby sister,” Pam said softly. 

“Hi,” Andy said, peaking into the car seat. Hunter stood up and crossed the yard. Paul left the car too and met him.

“Do you want to meet your niece?” he asked.

“I definitely do.”

Pam set the car seat on the ground and then carefully extracted a small bundle wrapped in pink cotton. She stood up and Hunter stepped towards her, Fitz appearing at his elbow. 

“Lance, Leo, I want you to meet your new niece. Her name is Leah  Amadea Rutger ,” Pam said.

“Leah  Amadea ,” Hunter repeated. 

“Leah, after Leo.  Amadea , after you.”

“Pamela,” Hunter said softly. “You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“Can I?” he asked, and Pam eased the baby into his arms. She was so small, her face pudgy even as she slept, and she looked exactly like Andy when he was that small. “You’re so soft, aren’t you? And look, you’re just as beautiful as your mum. I bet you’re going to blow people away. You’re so small now, but someday, you’re going to be big, and strong, and you’re going to change the world, I bet.”

He spoke softly, and the baby cracked open an eye at him. 

“Oh, hello, you’re awake, huh? I know, the world is big, and bright, and scary, and you’re confused as to why you’re not in  Mumma . I’d be so confused too, but that’s okay, you’re going to grow up big and smart and powerful and you’re going to rock everything that you do. I know it. Your mum is perfect, and your dad is strong, and your brother is kind, and you have the best support in the world.”

“ Lance. Why are you saying goodbye?” Pam asked.

“My team, my friends and family, our friends are here,” Hunter said. “They’re going to take us home. We’re leaving.”

“What? No,” Pam said. “You were supposed to be here with us, help us raise them, teach them, love them. If I have another, who’s going to make me whatever I want whenever I want and tell me I’m still wonderful and beautiful even when I’m a whale. You’re my best friend, you’re Paul’s best friend, we need you in our lives.”

“I know,” he said sadly. 

“Lance,” she whimpered. He shifted Leah in his arms and gestured Pam closer. She leaned into him, resting her cheek against his shoulder, tears already starting to well in her eyes. 

“Hey, baby girl,” Hunter said softly. “I’m leaving, but we’ll always have our memories, love. You and I, we’ll have Western movies and cupcakes, always. You’ll be with me wherever I go. I promise you that.”

“That’s not the same.”

“I know,” he said. 

“Will you be safer where you’re going? Better off?”

“We will,” Hunter said. “Maybe Leo and I will have a family of our own and we’ll name our kids after you.”

She sniffled.

“Would you?”

“Of course, you’ve done so much for me and Leo making us feel welcome and safe in a dangerous place. You’re my best friend, too, you are. And I will always be grateful for the love you gave me, the trust, everything.”

Pam hugged him carefully.

“I’ll tell Leah all about you, so she knows how loved she is.”

“She is,” Fitz said. “Hand her over, Lance. Quit hogging the baby.”

Hunter eased the baby into Fitz’s arms, and smiled as his husband’s face lit up. They definitely needed to have children, because that face was too sweet to say no to.

“You have to tell Andy,” Paul said. Andy was sitting with Jemma and Cal nearby. Jemma was showing him how to braid wildflowers together to make a crown. “He needs to know.”

“Yeah, I know,” Hunter said. “I’m glad for at least this last weekend with him.”

“Yeah, I’m sure he’ll be glad for this, too,” Paul said.

“I wish you could come with me,” Hunter said. 

“Me too.”

Hunter crossed to where Jemma and Andy were braiding while Andy told her all about her different cars, and the ones he’d share with Leah. 

“Hey bud,” Hunter said, sitting beside Andy. “That’s a pretty crown you’ve got there.”

“Thank you!”

Jemma’s was neater, the braiding tighter and the flowers arranged in a pattern. Andy’s was a bit more haphazard, but Hunter accepted it when Andy held it out. He placed it on his head, much too small but the way Andy grinned at him was enough. 

“I want to talk to you about something, Andy,” Hunter said gently. “You know how Uncle Leo and I aren’t from around here? We talk different than you, and Mum, and Dad, and the people in town?”

Andy nodded.

“Well, we’re a long way from home, you know. We’re a long way from our friends and our family, and we miss them a whole lot.”

Andy frowned, hands fidgeting in his lap with a few wildflowers between his fingers.

“So, we’re going to go home, with Jemma, and everyone you met yesterday.”

“No,” Andy said weakly.

“I’m sorry, bud. We won’t be around anymore. I wish it wasn’t so far away so we could visit, but it’s a long, long journey, so this is probably the last time we’ll see each other. But –” 

“No!” Andy cried.

“Come here,” Hunter said and Andy readily climbed into his lap, arms wrapping around his neck. “I will always be with you, bud. I will always love you, and miss you. When you look at the Zephyr, I want you to think of us, of me and Uncle Leo and how much we love you.”

“I don’t want you to go.”

“I know,” Hunter said. Andy shook with quiet sobs.

“It’s not fair.”

“I know.”

His words lost shape with his cries, and all Hunter could do was rub circles into his back and make apology eyes at Pam and Paul.

“Hey big guy,” Paul said, “come here.”

Andy let his dad lift him up out of Hunter’s arms, clinging to him instead. Hunter could feel his heart breaking, Andy inconsolable even in his dad’s arms. At some point, Jemma had snuck away and gotten his bag together, which they’d packed after breakfast with all of his work and the Zephyr model. She handed it off to Pam to put in the car as Fitz settled Leah back into her car seat. 

“One more for the road,” Pam said, throwing a hug around Hunter. 

“Yeah,” Hunter said, “I'll miss you too.”

They hugged for a while, unable to draw away, until Pam nudged Paul aside to hug him next. It took a while for the Rutgers to step away, and climb back into their car, everyone misty eyed and trembling. Andy wouldn’t look at them, staring at Leah asleep in the car seat beside him. 

“Hey,” Hunter said to all of them, leaned into Pam’s open window. “You be good, all of you.”

“You be safe,” Pam said, “be happy.”

He kissed her cheek and squeezed her hand, forcing himself to step away. Paul reversed out of the driveway, and Fitz's hand on the small of his back was the only think keeping him standing. Suddenly, it was real. They were leaving, and Hunter would never see them again. 

“This is so much harder than I thought,” Hunter whispered.

“I know.”

When they were out of sight, Hunter let out a long, slow, and measured breath, and he didn’t cry.

* * *

They loaded up the truck with boxes of the stuff they’d collected over six years. They’d didn’t have to bring their clothes, or any of the furniture, so Hunter packed up their little knick-knacks and photos while Fitz focused on the books and notebooks. He left the shed alone except for some of his designs, and his mass of design notebooks that covered the shelves on one wall. Hunter couldn’t look at the greenhouse, even though Fitz promised him he’d build him a brand new one in the future.

“I’m getting Thai as soon as we land,” Hunter said, trying to distract himself.

“I’m with you on that,” Fitz agreed. “I miss diversity in my food. No offense, baby.”

“It’s okay,” Hunter said. “I’ll just have to take cooking classes for different cultures.”

“Yes, please,” Fitz said. “Maybe I’ll join you.”

“I would like that.”

Hunter didn’t think about making festival pies with Ida at the farmhouse. He didn’t think about picnics outside under the bright summer sun, their skin pinking with the heat. He didn’t think about Christmas dinner at the farm, and the sweet way Fitz brought him a cinnamon roll with a single candle to make a wish on when Ida wasn’t looking. He didn’t think of birthday cake s with the same three candles lit year after year , and baking for Pam, and sharing beers with Paul.

He smiled at Fitz, and went back to loading up the truck, and he didn’t cry.

* * *

Hunter stood at the entrance to the cabin, staring into the living room, willing it to come with them. 

“You okay?” Fitz asked, trailing fingertips down the curve of his shoulder blade.

“I am,” he said. “I think. Or I will be.”

He didn’t cry.

* * *

They stopped at the farm, and Ida was waiting at the picnic table. Fitz already had tears in his eyes and his stutter came out with his upset. Ida swept him into a hug before he could work himself up too much, and spoke quietly to him. Hunter looked over the farm, his garden, the barn, the cows, Beau laying in the shade of the tree where the tire swing hung.  Fitz had kissed him while he sat in that tire swing, holding the tire in place while they kissed out in the open, early in their relationship,  alone on the farm except for the cows and the chickens, only the cornfields as their witnesses.

“Come here, Lance,” Ida said, and wrapped him up next. “Listen, sugar, I’m so proud of you, of who you’ve come, and how much you’ve accomplished. You've become such a good, calm man, no longer haunted by the shadows, and I’m glad your nightmares have gone away.  You and Leo are so perfect for one another, and I want you to never forget that. No matter where you go, what you have is special and you should fight to hold onto it. Don’t let the world scare you, or threaten you . Y ou stay with him.”

He couldn't speak, so he nodded.

“Keep cooking, and tend to yourself as well as you do the gardens. You deserve it. You’re just as important and as beautiful as any award-winning rose. And don’t be afraid to take a break, take a vacation, take care of yourself and let Leo in to see your hurt, even when you don’t want to, especially when.”

He gripped her shirt. She’d always known when Hunter was struggling with something, even if she never said anything. She’d nudge Hunter towards a solution, or Fitz to take care of Hunter if he was being particularly stubborn. 

“Don't let your darkness and pain drag you down. Let Leo help and carry it, and if he can’t fix it, at least let him hold your hand.”

He nodded. She let him go to kiss his forehead.

“God knew I needed you, Lance, and I’m so blessed to have had you, and the time that we had together.”

He squeezed her arms where he held them, unable to speak. He wanted to tell her what a gift the life she’d given them had been, how grateful he was to have stumbled into her yard, how nothing would ever be like this again. Instead, he rested his forehead against hers, and she whispered that she loved him. He squeezed her arms again, hoping it conveyed the same thing. 

“We’ve got to go,” Fitz said, “if we don’t, we never will.”

Hunter nodded, and stepped away, one step, two, three, letting his hands fall away from Ida. He stared at her for a long moment, memorizing her in this exact moment, the late spring sun high in the sky, the birds chirping, the wind rushing her hair, little strands falling from her bun to frame her head like a halo. There was mud on her overalls, gardening gloves sticking out of her pocket, a scratch along her arm which was mostly healed. Her eyes were sad, and her smile big, tears of her own dripping down her cheeks. 

Fitz took his hand, and Hunter found the resolve to take another step away, two, three. She raised her hand in goodbye. Another step, two, three. She took the next step away, two, three, the distance between them growing. 

He convinced himself to climb into the truck, and then to start it up. Fitz’s hand was shaking as he waved back at Ida. He had to take things one step at a time, remind himself what came next, because if he didn’t, he’d turn around and run back to the cabin, dragging Fitz with him. 

“Tell me you want to go back to the future,” Hunter said, voice foreign even to his own ears, scratchy and weak.

“What?”

“Tell me you don’t want to stay, that you want to leave.”

Fitz was quiet for a moment, and said confidently, “I want to leave.”

“Okay, then we leave.”

He put the truck in reverse, and drove away. When he turned onto the road, they paused to look at the house, at the farm, at Ida, small in the distance, and then Hunter convinced himself to move, to put the truck in drive, and just go. 

He didn’t cry. 

* * *

Hunter put on a happy face, pretended everything was fine, helped get their stuff loaded back into the Zephyr. He settled Cal in the lab with her toys and her bed while they worked, stopping by periodically to reassure her with scratches and treats. Daisy loved Cal and kept stopping to hang out. That was fine, since Cal seemed to enjoy her presence.

“Hey,” Fitz said, stopping with a box in their bunk. He set the box on the bunk and took Hunter’s hand where he was fiddling with the folded lid of his own box. Most of their stuff was in the cargo hold, except for the box of notebooks and their photo album, the stuff Hunter wanted close. “Hunter, are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Hunter said. “Just sad.”

“I get that,” Fitz replied, sliding his arms around Hunter’s waist, and tugging him close. “But at least we’re together. That’s what’s getting me through.”

Hunter nodded, leaned into Fitz, and sighed.

“I love you,” Fitz said. “I can’t wait to see the future with you.”

“Yeah,” Hunter agreed. “Me too.”

He didn’t cry.

* * *

When they took off, Hunter excused himself without explanation, and hid in a service crawl space. It hit him all at once that they were gone, that they had left Ida and their little cabin behind. He would never see them again. He would never hold Andy and Leah, never laugh with Paul, gossip about the women in town with Pam, never feel Ida’s smile on him. 

He couldn’t breathe, his chest aching, and reached out to grip a ledge nearby. The metal was cool to the touch, but it wasn’t enough to calm down his racing heart. He tried to think of happier things, things that might settle him, Cal rolling around in freshly mown grass, Fitz’s sleepy smile in the morning, taco trucks, cell phones, legally marrying Fitz, meeting his mum. 

Ida’s face flashed through his mind, the way she looked in the morning with her first cup of coffee, or at the farmer’s market on Saturdays, or in the kitchen while they baked side by side, the shy smile she had around Richard.

Like a dam giving way, the first sob crashed through his resolve and the rest flooded out of him, with no hopes of stopping them. Tears sprung from his eyes, even as he clamped them tightly keep them in.

“Lance.” 

Bobbi’s voice startled him mid-sob. He looked up and let out a quiet, self-pitying laugh.

“Jesus,” Hunter whispered, “of course. What do you want, Bob?”

“You’re hiding in a tiny space, crying by yourself.”

“Yeah? And what of it?”

“Lance,” she said, and stepped inside the space with him. She caught his wrist, still gripping the ledge, and dragged him towards her. “You’re not okay. You’re crying in a tiny space away from your husband. Your husband, by the way, who is looking for you because he knows something is wrong.”

“I didn’t think it would be this hard.”

She set her hand on his face and kissed his forehead, letting him lean into her.

“Leaving something you love is hard,” she said. “Deciding to say goodbye and step away from you was the hardest thing I ever did. Even now.”

“I’m sorry we couldn’t make it work.”

“We were too volatile. I’m glad you have him now.”

“We had a really good life together,” Hunter said. “We lived together and could be as free as we wanted on the farm, unafraid of anything or anyone. Our friends were fine with us and even participated in our wedding. They were welcoming and loving, and no one ever shot at Fitz, or threatened him. He stopped having nightmares, and his bad days are few and far between, and life is so good. Fitz is – god, I love him, Bobbi. I’d follow him anywhere. If he wanted to dive into war, or space, or the ocean, I would follow him. I didn’t think I could feel that way about anyone other than you, but I do, and I don’t think I’ll ever stop now that I’ve got him.”

She wiped a tear away on his cheek and sighed.

“And you will still have him in the future, away from your home there and your friends there.”

“I know. That’s not what I’m, what  _ this _ is about,” he said, gesturing to his tears. 

“What is it, then?”

“I don’t want Fitz to feel guilty for choosing to go home, because I want to go, too, but feelings and grief and guilt is complicated.”

She laughed. 

“I don’t want to make him feel bad when this is about me being unable to say goodbye. This isn’t on him, and I don’t want him to feel like I don’t want to be here with him, and you, and everyone.”

“He is your husband,” Bobbi said. “It may not be on him, but I know, having been there myself, he wants to be there for you. That’s what he married you for, to take care of you as much as you want to take care of him.”

Hunter chuckled, and said softly, “Ida said something similar to me.”

“You have a tendency to surround yourself with strong, intelligent, wise women,” she said. “And then willfully don’t listen to them. Go talk to your husband, dummy.”

The tears hadn’t stopped, and Hunter wasn’t sure he could make them.

Not without Fitz.

“Can you get him for me? I don’t think I can go anywhere looking like, you know, this. Not without an interrogation I don’t want to have.”

“She doesn’t have to, I’m here,” Fitz said from the door. 

“My cue,” Bobbi said, and kissed Hunter’s forehead as she stepped away from him. “You’re in good hands, babe.”

“Thanks, Bob.”

She slipped out of the space and Fitz stepped in, closing the door behind him.

“You,” Fitz said, voice soft and loving as ever. “What are you doing in here?”

“Nostalgia,” Hunter said. “The first time I wanted to press you into something was a space like this on the Bus.”

“Hunter,” he said, tilting his head a little at Hunter, clearly unamused. “Don’t deflect.”

“Sorry.” He wiped away another tear, and really wished they would stop. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“Do what?”

“Leave,” Hunter muttered. “I’ve never – this is different, and I’m not sure what to do to get through it.”

“Well, luckily, we can get through it together, yeah? You don’t have to go through it alone.”

Hunter reached out towards Fitz, and Fitz stepped into his space. 

“Luckily, I promised to take care of you, and I intended on keeping that promise, darling. I know that this sucks, I know that it hurts, I know that there aren’t enough words to explain what this feels like, because it’s never happened to anyone before. But luckily, even in the unknown and in the dark, we have each other, no matter what. We can do this, survive and heal.”

Fitz put his hand on the side of Hunter’s face, and stroked his thumb over Hunter’s cheek. 

“God, why are you so beautiful even when you cry? That’s ridiculous, Hunter.”

Hunter laughed and leaned in to kiss Fitz. 

“Sorry, I’m a mess.”

“You’re not a mess. You’re beautiful, and a little snotty, but you’re not a mess. This is completely natural.”

“Is it?”

“I don’t know, probably, nobody’s ever gone through this before. But missing and grieving what was, and your friends, that is natural. We’ve all done that. We’ve grieved before, and mourned, that’s not new. But I won’t tell you, ever, not to feel this. What you’re going through is natural, and valid, and I am here for you, no matter what you need. I am with you. I am always with you.”

* * *

“Daisy,” Hunter said, after they’d left the service space. “Can you look up Ida for me? I want to know if she was happy, if she got a happy ending.”

“Sure,” she said, grabbing a tablet and sank onto a chair nearby. Cal trotted over after Hunter and laid down at Daisy’s feet, Daisy absently pet Cal’s side with her foot while she worked. “What was her last name again, Featherweight?”

“Featherstone,” Hunter and Fitz replied. Fitz was fiddling with the  holotable , having missed the comfort of technology. 

“She’s from North Carolina, originally, born in 1919. Served in World War 2,” Hunter added. 

“Alright, here we are, she was born Ida Goss, married twice.”

“Twice?” Fitz asked. 

“Looks like she married Richard Williams in the summer of 1970.”

Daisy sent a photo to the large screens along the wall for them to see. Richard and Ida were standing in the side yard, Ida wearing her overalls, and Richard was wearing a button-down plaid shirt and jeans. Hunter couldn’t keep his laugh in; it was the most Ida wedding photo he’d ever seen. There were sunflowers, two braided and twisted together to their right in the frame, the archway visible behind them, although not directly.

“Mayor Hot Pants did it!” Hunter said. 

“Knew he had it in him,” Fitz said to him.

“ Betcha Ida proposed.”

“Oh, one hundred percent. Ida was the only reason anything happened on that farm.”

“True.”

“Would you like to hear the rest?” Daisy asked patiently. When they nodded, she continued. “They had one son, who they named James Jacob Williams, and a daughter, named  _ Jemma _ Andrea Williams. They are twins.”

“Ida finally got to have the family she wanted with John,” Hunter said. “They, the babies, they survived?”

“They did. James is an attorney who helps fight against discrimination in Iowa, and Jemma owns a hair salon in town, with her wife.”

Hunter smiled.

“And, if you don’t mind, what about Andy and Leah?” 

“Andrew  Rutger ,” Daisy said after a moment, “is a pilot for American Airlines, unmarried. He was one of the 38 pilots in the air on 9/11 that was diverted to Newfoundland, and safely got his entire manifest of passengers to their destination, just a couple days later than planned. He says that his love of flying wasn’t diminished, because when he was a little boy, he was told he could do anything, even touch the sky, and he never forgot that, even in the face of such darkness and tragedy.”

“Holy shit,” Fitz said.

“And Leah. Leah  Rutger , married to a man named Thomas Satchel, is a happily married housewife and stay at home mom to three children, apparently. One of her children, Theodore, is an agent of SHIELD today.”

“What?”

“Theodore Satchel,” she said, “is in the goddamn Lighthouse right now.”

“No.”

“Yeah.”

“Holy shit,” Fitz said. “Small world. Your best friend’s grandson is an agent of SHIELD.”

“Holy shit,” Hunter echoed, and when he laughed, it was like all of his worries were gone. His family had survived, and thrived, even if he wasn’t there. They were safe. They were happy. That’s all he’d ever wanted.

* * *

“What’s the plan?” Coulson asked when they touched down at the Lighthouse in their own time. “Six years is a long time away from SHIELD, away from this life. What’s the next step for you two?”

Fitz looked at Hunter.

“We’re going to Scotland. There’s someone Hunter has to meet.”

“He won’t legally let me put a ring on it if we don’t have the Mama Fitz seal of approval,” Hunter added. Fitz grinned at him, and he grinned back. 

“Beyond that,” Fitz said, “we’re not sure. We want to buy a house somewhere, start a plant nursery, start a family. Take the lessons that Ida taught us, put them to good use. New life, away from SHIELD.”

Coulson nodded. 

“That sounds nice,” Coulson said. “That sounds really nice after everything.”

“Think  May’ll mind giving us a ride to Scotland?” Fitz asked.

“She wouldn’t mind,” May said, walking past them. “But I’d like to wash the 1960s out of my hair before we take off anywhere.”

“Let us know when the wedding is,” Coulson said. “We’ll try not to let the world explode on that day.”

“You might be a bit busy officiating to stop the end of the world, though,” Fitz said. Coulson stopped and smiled at him. “If you want, that is.”

“I’d be honored.”

* * *

Their goodbyes came in stages, with Daisy and Daniel first, then Mack and Yo-Yo, then Deke, and finally with Bobbi and Jemma. Hunter didn’t want to say goodbye so soon after finding them again, but Fitz had reached out to his mum, and they were expected in Glasgow the next morning. They loaded up the  Quinjet with their boxes, and Hunter hugged Jemma, then Bobbi, not wanting to linger in their embraces too long. Fitz kissed them both on the cheek, whispered quietly to them, and stepped onto the  Quinjet beside Hunter. 

“Text me when you land,” Jemma said to Fitz. 

“I will.”

“And when you see your mum.”

“I will.”

“And call me, I want to know exactly what she says.”

“Jemma.”

“I know,” she said. She stepped away, and Bobbi took her hand. 

Interesting, Hunter thought, but that wasn’t his business what may or may not be there. He was sure, if anything was there, if anything developed once Fitz and Hunter officially stepped away from SHIELD, he would hear about it. 

“Don’t get in trouble,” Bobbi said.

“I cannot make any promises,” he replied easily.

This wasn’t goodbye forever. They’d see the team again, for the wedding, for holidays, for birthdays. They’d video chat, and text each other. Deke had already sent them too many  emojis , and almost gotten himself banned from the group chat. They would not be gone from their lives. This wasn’t goodbye forever. Their last goodbye was to May as they loaded the boxes, and their dog, into the back of a rental car. Hunter hugged May first, their relationship solid but not quite like what Fitz and May had made and built over the years. She pat his arm awkwardly, but still fondly, and then she turned to Fitz. They clung to each other for a long while, and when May stepped away, Hunter swore he saw a shine of tears in her eyes before she schooled her expression.

Hunter stepped off of the  Quinjet in Glasgow with Fitz at his side, and he didn’t cry, because this wasn’t goodbye. It was, rather, a hello of sorts. Hello to the possibilities. Hello to the opportunities. It was a hello to the scary unknown, walking side by side across this bridge to get to their future, whatever that may hold for them. If Lance Hunter could have chosen anyone to start a life and a future with, Leopold Fitz absolutely was his first choice, and somehow, luck let him have Leopold Fitz.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh this one got away from me lol at a staggering 23k! Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it, it was such a wild ride for me personally! This is the longest thing I have ever written and probably ever will! Thank you so much for reading this far and sticking with me through it all! If you want to stay updated, I'm chatty about ideas over on tumblr as kaytikazoo.   
> Thank you all so much for reading!   
> <3  
> -k

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from Talk Me Down by Troye Sivan
> 
> If you want to come talk about Agents of SHIELD, Fitz, Hunter, or literally anything else, I can be found on tumblr as KaytiKazoo!!!  
> -K


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